Summer Bells Ringing Silently
by PlanetOfTheWeepingWillow
Summary: When through some mistake Chinese prince Yao Wang is sent to live with the rich soldier Ivan Braginsky, an unexpected friendship forms. The two learn more about each other's complex characters and form a bond deeper than simple romance, even with the complications of language. A romance as well as a character study. RoChu, RussiaxChina, shounen-ai
1. Sunshine in Winter

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Gleaming coats of horses flashed across the great field, trampling flowers and grass in their paths. On their backs, bouncing with each gallop, were soldiers geared for battle. Swords in sheaths sat at their sides and they, swaddled in fine fur coats, prepared for grim battle. Snow flitted down like falling ash from a great fire, swirling and blinding those who were unaccustomed to it.

On one flank was a young man named Ivan Braginsky, brawny and grinning in the face of battle. His fair, mousy colored hair whipped against his face, which was square shaped and sturdy. Behind him was a happy home and crowds of people awaiting his healthy return!

Among which was a rare treasure from the East. The beauty, fine toned with fair skin and coal-black hair, waited for Ivan in his leisurely home, lounging in fine silks. He hated every inch of it, despite the comfort it brought him. He hoped Ivan would perish in battle from some wound inflicted to the heart or brain, but Ivan was a strong fighter—like the Greek and Roman heroes of years yonder—and that possibility dwindled with every second.

This beauty, Yao Wang, had been a prince and through some conflicts and schemes been exchanged over to the other country. Yao went along resentfully, fearing what would be become of him if he refused. He slipped off the ottoman and examined the house. Bustling in kitchen and making hot soup, was one of the many maids. She heard his feline footsteps with a trained maternal ear and rounded on him. In Russian, she asked something which Yao who could not understand.

She realized this and muttered to herself, waving at him to go do his own business. He went over to the grand windows and pulled away the frail curtains, peering down into the gray streets of Moscow. Horse-drawn carriages trampled through, carrying rich people and ignoring the impoverished ones scrawling the streets for a bit of bread. Several bare-footed women marched through, talking loudly with traveling gypsies and giving bits of black bread to the poor children. Monks of the monastery teemed at mass. Despite dreading his imprisonment, Yao still enjoyed the view below. He leaned against the window and watched, wishing for warmth or mist, or something other than the frigid cold.

Today was the second day since Yao's arrival. And yet he had still to meet the man who had bought him. Intentions were still murky, though Yao could fathom at what they were. He still had yet to learn whether Ivan was a morose, cynical man or a jolly giant with good nature deeply rooted in his heart. And Ivan had yet to know of Yao's personality.

"Who's to say that this was his choice?" Yao thought to himself, "I don't see any other women or men here."

This was completely true. Besides the two maids, no one else lived with Ivan. At least, not in this particular home of his. Much like other wealthy Russians, Ivan owned several homes and had requested that Yao stay in that Moscow apartment until he returned, and then they would live in his bigger house outside of the metropolis.

This both excited and unnerved Yao: for one, he would see something besides the groggy city, and for a second he would for sure never see his home again.

"He wants to go home," one of the maids, Lena, said to the other.

The other, who stirred the soup impatiently, nodded. "I don't blame him. But it is strange that Ivan, of all people, would buy himself a person, let alone a male!"

"Oh, Sveta, you know how clever he is! He must have some other motives."

"Do you think it is to judge how well we do our job?"

Lena paused, overcome with the possibility. Her bright eyes gleaming, she rushed to Yao at the window and took both his hands, kissing them. "Whatever you wish I will oblige!" She said.

Yao looked at her in surprise, unable to communicate. She had her black hair tightly pulled back. Her thin face, though not completely unsightly, faced him with a very scarce amount of beauty. Her eyes bulged much like a fish.

"I don't understand!" Yao blurted out in Mandarin, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I don't understand!" Lena said the same thing unknowingly.

"Oh you blubbering, screeching girl!" Sveta came up behind her and pulled her away. In one hand was a wooden spoon holding some red liquid and a sliced beet. "Try," she urged, holding it up to Yao.

Yao leaned forwards and tasted the soup. He smiled, surprised by the quality of the cooking. To him Russian food seemed to be bland and plain, potatoes and bread, but this introduction had him hungry for more.

Sveta beamed knowingly at him and said "good?"

Yao, who by now started to pick up some Russian, repeated the Russian word for "good", just as she did.

Sveta walked up towards the tick-tocking grandfather clock, made of fine brown wood, and pointed to the six. "In a half hour," she said slowly.

Yao nodded, feeling famished. He hadn't eaten since that morning.

"We must teach him Russian!" Sveta told Lena, going back to her soup and started to set the table while it simmered.

"He must be intelligent. I can see it in his eyes. Oh how proud Ivan will be when he returns to a Russian-speaking… Say, what is he? A guest?" Lena debated her word usage, helping Lena by setting out the bread and butter.

"By the way we treat him, he'll be seen as a king," Sveta muttered. She was the opposite of Lena: short and round, her face strong and determine and her black eyes plain. She kept her red hair tied back in a bun all the same.

Yao, meanwhile, returned to staring out the window, trying to absorb the Russian spoken by the two, even if it sounded like popping gibberish compared to his familiar Mandarin back at home. He untied the string that bound his long, inky hair and let the silk-like feature rest on his shoulder, clashing with his skin tone. Many possibilities and chances of escape surrounded him. Now, even, when the maids were distracted he could have escaped. But where would he go? He couldn't turn to anybody. Even with this rationale, still something else held him back. Perhaps it was out of pure curiosity of the man who had purchased him, or won him, or whatever wording one wanted to use.

On the other end of the window sill was a flower face, filled with glimmering water and that reflected the green-tinted vase. Inside the vase was a sunflower gazing happily out into the world. Yao felt its smooth petals between his fingers and smiled.

* * *

_I do not own Hetalia._

_Yes those are actual Russian names. _


	2. The Exotic Beauty

A month passed. Yao spent his days tasting Sveta's cooking, taking walks around Moscow and watching winter slowly raise its clutches, and learning Russian from Lena. Still, the sun refused to shine for more than a few supple hours in the middle of the day. Ivan had yet to arrive. He was due to return in several days and Yao, who had otherwise let Ivan slip from his mind, felt a strange excitement rise up inside him. It balanced on the thin precipice, ready to leap from the happy excitement to the apprehension sort of excitement.

On the third day away from Ivan's arrival, Yao woke to smell eggs and to see the sun peaking in through the curtains. He slept in a once guest room with a neat, quilt-covered bed and a fine nightstand holding all his materials he brought from his country as well as some souvenirs from Moscow. He stood and dressed in not his fine red silks, but in a cotton shirt and pants. Though they were not quite as smooth on his skin as his other clothing, they provided considerably more warmth. His hair still remained at its long length and continued to grow uncut, reaching below his shoulder blades, even when plaited as it was now.

In the kitchen Sveta and Lena were preparing for the day, bidding him good morning. Yao understood enough Russian to respond to that as well as their queries as to how he slept.

"Did you have any dreams?" Lena asked, smiling.

Yao sat down and picked up a slice of black bread. "Yes," he responded in accented Russian.

"She's silly this way," Sveta said, turning off the gas stove and starting to clean up the counters. "She deigns to learn about people's dreams! I think it's ridiculous and dreams are nothing more than your brain keeping your mind at work through the night."

Yao smiled and said, as best he could, "I think dreams are more than that."

"See that, Sveta?" Lena said proudly, going through the laundry while Yao ate. The two maids had long since eaten and since Yao made it clear he had no problem with them lingering while he dined, they gave him company while doing their chores. "So, Yao, what did you dream about?"

Yao paused, gathering all his vocabulary and staring at his tea pensively.

"I dream about… horses. Many horses," he repeated, pronouncing the word and feeling foolish. Lena listened with her dark eyes wide and curious. "Running horses going somewhere very far away… I do not know where, but I see them do it many nights."

"You're getting so good at our language!" Sveta cried in elation. "How is your reading?"

"He's still learning the alphabet," Lena answered for him, seeing as Yao was lost from Sveta's quick speaking and strange accent.

In that month Yao had learned quite an amount about the two maids. Sveta used to live on a farm in the woodland areas with her multiple sisters and brothers. She lived there for fifteen years until her father found a job in the city and moved them there. Upon arrival some of her remaining siblings who had not died from illness spread out. Most of her brothers ended up at a monastery. She had a husband and they had a daughter who was still learning to walk.

Lena worked as a teacher and had lost that job when her sister fell ill and she had to take more time to tend to her. The school could not permit her to take such a leave in that impoverished time. She, finding her sister more important, decided to take care of her instead. Her sister then died some time later that year.

Yet, Yao had yet to learn of how they came across Ivan or how Ivan discovered them. He decided to ask them that during evening tea.

After breakfast, as always, Yao read to himself while the two women completed their daily tasks. When they finished, Sveta left to buy some produce and Lena took him out to take a walk around the town again.

They entered the bustling street shortly after, in fur coats and boots. Cassocks appeared in nearly every other person the closer they got to the very same monastery that Sveta's brothers had departed to. Lena led Yao to another part of town, this time, and this was in front of a school. Today was a day off for the students and still some lingered outside of it to meet with some friends and exchange news.

Lena showed Yao around, telling him the names of various objects and asking him to repeat the strange words. He did and as he was repeating the word for "gate", a little girl came up to him. She had several others trailing behind her eagerly, like ducklings after their mother. It was obvious that she was the leader.

In her high pitched voice she asked to touch Yao's hair. Lena laughed and Yao, baffled, bent down and pushed back his hood.

"They've never seen such smooth, ink-black hair." Lena explained.

The girls giggled as they felt Yao's recently washed hair. He stared at them in confusion for some time, his cheeks tinting when they commented on his beauty. Eventually a smile appeared on his lips and he, too, laughed.

The girls dispatched and went to tease some boys who were tormenting a spider they had caught. Yao put his hood back on and, still flushing, looked at Lena for answers. She had none to supply to him.

Lena later bought Yao a brown, bitter drink which he detested. When he showed disinterest she shrugged and drank it all. On the way home she explained that it was made of bread and Yao stared in disbelief. He asked to buy another of the exotic concoction and she agreed she would the next day.

Content with that deal, Yao kept quiet until they reached home. Once there and cleaned up, they had a tiny lunch of bread and slices of salami. Lessons started then. Lena taught him more of past tenses and other words, happy to see that her student was bright and eager to learn. The more he learned of the culture and the more he wanted to impress Ivan, the more he longed to learn proper Russian.

Lena went to do her chores and Yao studied until tea time. The question Yao itched to ask earlier that day bobbed back to the surface of his mind. He asked Sveta and Lena shyly.

"How did we meet Ivan…?" Sveta said smiling nostalgically.

"Oh what a good day that was!" Lena giggled. "I remember it clearly. When Anna was at her worst, shortly before her death, I was very desperate. Oh how horrible it was to see my sister in pain! And I was more than desperate. I sought constantly for more money, going to lengths to beg at door steps and cry for mercy. One day I came across Mr. Braginsky. He was in a garden, softly strumming his guitar. You must ask him to play it for you when you're with him! I heard and I cried from such beauty. I hadn't heard anything so pure and nice for so long. He told me to come over and he has such sorrowful eyes… You'll understand soon enough. He told me that he was going to be a soldier and that he came from a rich family. He just bought a home in Moscow and needed a maid. Lucky as I was! The sun smiled at me that day. I told him I needed a job and he welcomed me right in. But he is such a mystery."

Sveta agreed. Yao raised his tea cup to his lips, hiding a smile. Ivan seemed amicable already. However he did not want to get ahead of himself.

Sveta licked her lips and looked upwards. "Well, when I came to the city with my family, father told me to find a job or not to return home. I was of age to find a job and settle down on my own. I had already met Victor, but I was so afraid of him at the time to ask him a place at his home. How could I have guessed that he would marry me soon! But, that is another story, a romance to be exact. Anyway, the day father told me to find a job I could not. I searched in bakeries and in grocers but no one was hiring. I was desperate and weepy, a pathetic little girl at the time. I didn't go home, even when it was dreadfully cold and dark. Instead I decided to run away, crying the entire time. This was before Lena met Ivan, though, about a year. I discovered Ivan had escaped from his house and was walking around, very disgruntled. He noticed I was crying and asked why I was crying. He asked it in such a sweet and genteel voice I couldn't keep quiet. Instead I blurted it all out and he, miraculously, offered me to be a cook for him. He lived only with his parents, who were remote and always distant. His sisters had gone off on his own, even his youngest one. He was endowed the house at the edge of the city, which he has since sold, and I lived with him there. I never learned why he was out of the house at the time. Maybe you should ask him. Just as Lena said; he is a mystery."

She finished and looked at Yao, whose eyes were unexpectedly glittering with emotion. The grandfather clock ticked on incessantly to fill the silence. Lena played with her cup and set it down. "I'll go ready your bed."

Yao nodded.

That night he dreamed of roses and gardens, as well as a sprightly girl looking through them for a particular flower—a chrysanthemum. She never did find it.

The next two days passed uneventfully. Yao's Russian grew stronger and he became accustomed to the streets around the building. Lena and Sveta talked of the gossip which was meaningless to Yao, as he didn't know any of the people involved. He still didn't mind, enjoying their presence all the same. The servants and maids he had back at home were stealthily hidden in the background, hardly daring to venture out of their shadows when unwanted. Here it was different. Here their personalities were powerful and loud, which seemed at first disrespectful to Yao but he grew used to it. Nonetheless, it gave him a heavy feeling of homesickness. He longed to see the greenery, the houses, the people, and most of all the few friends he had.

During lunch on the due date, the door shook open and Ivan walked in, stamping snow off his shoes and shedding his jacket. He hung it up along with his hat. Yao watched shyly from his position. Silvery, fair hair reached Ivan's strong jaw and his eyes, a dark color and impenetrable located Yao. His pale lips formed into a smile and kissed the maid's cheeks hello.

They babbled in Russian, happy to be reunited not as a boss and his workers but as good friends, even like family. Ivan walked into the living room where Yao sat. His expression did not falter, as brazen as his uniform and strong gait.

"Who are you?" He asked in a soft, troubled voice.


	3. The Soldier and the Prince

Yao stared in horror, struck suddenly by a multitude of possibilities whirling through his mind. Had he come here by accident? It certainly seemed so. Now he had to go home, which wasn't a terrible prospect in the end, but still…

Yao still didn't want to go home, at least not yet. He wanted to experience a new culture, see more of the world in his short life. Shyly, still, he stepped away from Ivan and gave him a reproachful glance.

Sveta looked from one to the other in great confusion. "But, Ivan…?"

Ivan then burst into laughter—warm and bright. He stepped forwards and embraced Yao and set him down, kissing his cheek in greeting. "Hello my prince!" He said, "So you're what I bargained for, hm? Well, I'm glad to see you! We'll be off at night, so you may sleep in the carriage and wake up in the country side. I promise it is much more beautiful there than it is in this stuffy and cramped city."

With that Ivan turned away and went into the kitchen, having a desire for some tea. Sveta went to help him. Lena lingered and giggled, "I told you, Ivan is such a mystery! You never know what he is thinking. I once asked him about the war and he could not reply. Now, I'll go pack your things." She started towards Yao's room, beckoning him to follow. She explained that she would pack his books so he could continue learning Russian and that she would pack a sandwich folded in a napkin in case he feels famished along the journey.

"You have the most beautiful clothing from where you come from," Lena commented longingly. A trunk lay before her, planted firmly on the bed and creating a summit below it. The bed creaked as she shifted it. Piling in clothing and organizing it alongside books, she continued; "Here we have the coarse fabrics and colorless shirts. And you have these soft pastel colors I envy so… Now, remember what I asked you."

Yao looked intently at her from his position on the bed, crossing his thin pale legs and spreading out his toes near the trunk.

"Ivan has a tough exterior but don't let that dishearten you from learning more about them. And I hope he learns more about you. By then your language will be strong enough so that you can express yourself freely. I feel like you keep your inner self hidden from courtesy and alienation. I can tell from how you walk and how you stare out the windows with such sorrowful eyes."

Yao allowed a smile to cross his lips and nodded, rifling through his bedside counter. Inside was a box he brought from home, containing some items that were of more importance to him than all the money in the world. He set it in the corner of the trunk. Lena made no comment and went on working, singing quietly to herself.

When finished, Lena left Yao alone for some time. He remained perched in his position, feeling a strange feeling well up in his chest. Lena and Sveta had become so familiar to him in that short time. He didn't want to leave them, just as he didn't want to leave his home. His brother had gone off elsewhere and, despite being abandoned, he still grew to love his home with little company. The beautiful designs, trees, plants, flowers, and all the pretty things there were in his life had fallen from existence when he came to this new country.

Lost deeply in thought, he did not notice when Ivan entered the room. The man stood tall and broad at the doorway. He looked inside with bright, clever eyes. He took to the room with long strides and sat down beside Yao, startling the prince.

Ivan laughed. "I'm sorry for scaring you! Relax," he added in a gentler tone.

Yao glowered at him briefly and turned away.

"Is something troubling you? Is the prospect of running away from this city with a strange man not even in the least interesting to you? Ha! I suppose it is a princess ordeal more so than it is a prince's. Still, I can see why it bothers you. If it makes you feel any better, once my two maids clear up this home and manage to sell it they will join us in the country side."

Yao's spirits lifted all at once and he turned to face Ivan eagerly. "Tell me more of the country house," he said, proud of his own advancements in the language.

"So you can speak my swan," he chuckled, "The country house is not too far into the woods but rather in a rural area. There are a few lively characters around and my sisters often come to visit. I haven't told them anything of your presence yet so I believe that will be a terrifically funny surprise! Imagine that, my two sisters—one most gentle and sweet and the other cold as ice—coming to visit me and finding instead a strange prince."

Yao frowned. "I do not want to be used as a joke."

"But you won't be, my swan."

"Why do you call me a swan?"

Ivan was taken aback. He mulled over it for a minute, pressing his thumb to his chin and lowering his eyes. Yao noticed a faint scar trailing from under his ear to the edge of his mouth. "Isn't it obvious?" Ivan said, "You are as beautiful as a swan and as rare as one, too."

"That's flattery and you won't win with it," Yao said.

Something curious came over him in those moments. Near Ivan he felt as though all his outer layers were shed in a single breath and he stood, naked and exposed, with his personality visible from all sides. The feisty and sharp nature of his woke with fiery passion and sprung at each opportunity. With the maids he could not, as they treated him as a prince like all the other people he knew. Yao guessed that it was Ivan's soft words and eyes that eased him into relaxation, into exposing himself. Yao flushed as he realized this, but did not apologize for his coarse, accented tongue.

Ivan laughed his tinkling laugh again. "You have a strong character, I like that. Anyone with a strong character is worth talking to. It's the people who are feeble and soft and weak in nature and hide themselves away that bother me most." He stood up quickly, his expression shifting from jollity to grim seriousness. "If you excuse me, I'll go fetch a carriage. Dress warmly. The winds will be chilly and will steadily grow colder as we venture on. We leave in an hour." He turned away and left to the corridor, pulling on his coat and hat, slipping into his boots and packing a bundle of money into his pockets. The door shut behind him.

Yao ventured out of the room to find Sveta there.

His boldness at once trickled away and he found himself the shy and amiable prince again. "Miss Sveta?" He called.

She looked up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her soft cheeks were tinted with red from the cold gush of air Ivan had allowed in moments before. "Yes?" she said.

"Why is Ivan selling this home?"

"What use does he have of it? He only kept it to have a place in Moscow to come to after wars. But now since he does not need to go anymore he has decided to settle down at last. He's past the prime of his life now. It's about time he did so."

"Who will he sell it to?"

"That has yet to be discovered." Sveta smiled briefly and, when Yao hesitated, raised her eyebrows. "What's the matter?"

"It's nothing of importance." Yao said and turned back into his room, picking up a book on his way and sitting down to read from it.

As promised, an hour later, Yao stood at the door way. His trunk was in hand and he was bundled up in a fur coat and hat, his hair tucked away and only his pale face visible. His dark eyes stared patiently at the door. When Ivan pushed it open, they landed upon him in a forceful seriousness. Ivan noticed but made no remark. He bade Lena, who had come back from her errands, and Sveta good bye. He kissed their cheeks and embraced them. Had an onlooker viewed this, he would never have guessed that the women were his maids by the way Ivan treated them. The friendly manners, however, seemed to Yao as a piece to a large and complex puzzle that Ivan incessantly was crafting.

Yao kissed the maids good-by as well, doing it awkwardly as he was unaccustomed to such formalities. In a moment he was whisked away and taken outside. Darkness settled in. Clear stars twinkled in the vault of the sky like precious gems. The horses huffed, their breaths coming out in white, smoky clouds. Yao placed his trunk in the back and clambered into the seat, feeling at once sleepy and comfortable. Ivan, after distinct instructions to the driver, piled in as well.

The cab started to move. It rocked and the sound of clip-clopping horses greeted the silence between the prince and the soldier. Ivan settled snuggly, his large coat providing warmth even from the leaking cold from outside.

Yao's eyes grew heavier and heavier as he watched the city flit by outside the small windows. The inside of the cab was dim and only a trace of Ivan's bright eyes were visible.

"I know you are sleepy," Ivan whispered after some time. Yao had started to doze off, feeling a pain in his cheeks from straining his eyes open.

Yao, stifling a yawn, agreed.

"Then lay your head down here. Don't worry, I won't bite."

Yao looked at him and felt his head, despite his own concerns, start to drop onto Ivan's warm and soft shoulder. The furs tickled his nose and he smiled despite himself, thankful for the dark that shielded it from Ivan's sight.

Ivan settled back, listening to Yao's soft breaths and going into his thoughts. What passed through his mind is indistinguishable, for many things were whipping though and fading away instantly. He thought, however, mostly of this new life.

"Oh I've never been more grateful for saving someone's life!" He thought, closing his eyes and falling into a light doze himself.


	4. The Thickest Silence

"It's time to wake up," Ivan said gently.

Yao blinked away and covered a yawn with his fingertips. Early morning sunlight poured in through the windows. The heavy, thick weight of sleep in a moving vehicle pressed down on Yao, who still yearned for another moment of sleep. Ivan opened the door and slipped out, followed by Yao. He pulled out several notes from his pocket and paid the cabby, bidding him farewell.

A cool chill rolled through the empty area. A dirt road stretched down a grassy hill, giving the illusion that they went on into the distant snow-topped mountains. The yellow grass shivered, dotted with snow in several areas.

"I'm sorry. It's a bit of a walk. I thought that we could use this distance to stretch our legs." Ivan explained, starting down the hill with Yao walking sleepily behind him. The walk took half an hour and by the end Yao was quite awake. On the journey, they came across several women in kerchiefs tending the cows and chickens. Small farms were planted along the area, but just short of the house there was no one in sight. Once they reached the front, Ivan stopped and pointed to the left. "There's a few shops there, to buy the bare necessities, and," he directed Yao to the right, "there is a small village in that direction. The shops to the left are for travelers and the village is for the villagers." He chuckled at his own joke and pulled a key from his pocket, unlocking the gate.

Yao figured that the house would look lovelier in the spring and summer. Now it looked bare and gray. A naked tree cast its shadow over the large house. The house itself was bright and welcoming with two stories and a garden in the front. Some plants that could survive the winter peeked over the clumps of snow.

"Do you like it?" Ivan said, pushing the door open. Inside it was far better. Nineteenth century styled furniture decorated the inside. "Allow me to take this," Ivan said, picking up Yao's trunk. He had dragged it behind him for the walk, insisting on carrying it despite Ivan's protests. Yao still started to argue but Ivan swiped it away and took it into a vast room with a bed in the middle, laden with fresh sheets and sunlight. He set it on the ground and went into the other room. "Do what you want to get comfortable. I've already brought my things."

"When did you do that?" Yao said, baffled. As far as he knew, Ivan had recently purchased this home and had been in battle for a majority of that time.

Ivan shrugged, "I sent my things about the same time I offered to bring you here."

"Offered…? No, I heard that you bought me." Yao retorted, following Ivan into the other room. It was far simpler than his. A bed with a brown quilt sat in the middle, with a bedside table empty except for a jug of water.

"Then you didn't hear correctly. Sit, I'll tell you the story." Ivan said in a serious tone. His cheeks paled as he sat down, shedding his fur coat and scratching his chest. From his neck a chain dangled. The item at the end remained hidden under his shirt. Yao sat next to him, feeling quite comfortably against this man, having only known him for a day.

"Go on, I'm listening." Yao said, crossing his arms.

"Well, let's see. I won't tell you it all because I like to have suspense when I tell a story. I'll only correct you on one matter—that I bought you. I made no such purchase. Something happened that caused me to turn to the Prince, or rather noble, of that country and I offered to take this task on. There's your story."

Yao made no comment, grunting and standing up. "Do you want tea?" He asked.

"I would like some," Ivan said. His face changed again, becoming dark and troubled.

Yao took of his shoes and padded barefoot to the kitchen. A window showed the backyard clearly. In the distance the gray mountains were visible. Yao found a box of tea leaves and started preparing them. He investigated the kitchen. He knew little of cooking, having had servants serve him for most of his life. The other part is when his title of "prince" became meaningless and he was known as a "noble". The details were blurry still to him. All he knew was that he suddenly went away from his group of people and ended up in the denser part of the city. When he came there his servants would do less work and he had to learn some cooking for himself when they left on certain days. Tea and soup were his strengths. Perhaps he could treat Ivan to some at one point.

Ivan walked in sometime later, pulling up a wooden chair and sitting down. Yao poured him a glass and set it before him and got himself a cup. They sat across each other, their arms resting on the table. Silence filled the house, utter and complete. The familiar clatter of horse-drawn carriages was long gone, along with the constant bustle of the city.

Yao bowed his head. I'll go into a frenzy before long, he thought; it's too silent.


	5. Ice in the Moonlight

Yao could not sleep that night. The silence persisted since they arrived in the morning. He spent the day with sparse conversations with Ivan, setting away his belongings and occasionally eating something. Ivan then took him to the backyard for a moment—it grew colder as the day went on—and showed him. In the distance there was a dark stretch of material. Ivan told him that they were train tracks. Beyond them was a more densely populated village. Yao wanted to go there but the biting wind forced him to go back in.

Occasionally the rattle of trains passed through, seemingly rumbling the very earth. Yao grumbled and tried to find a more comfortable position. He could not, however, and only grew more discomforted with every shift. His mind became more active, electric, and refused to simmer down and allow him even an hour of sleep. So he stood up and paced around the house. His hair was loose at his shoulders, clashing with his white night gown. He padded down to the kitchen, examining it in the moonlight. It looked ethereal in this light and he enjoyed that. The night always changed something's appearance; giving it almost other-worldly feel.

In another room Ivan was softly snoring. Outside the wind whispered words just below Yao's comprehension. It was like a song sung in a different language.

Yao ended up falling asleep on the couch. He woke up to find a blanket atop him and Ivan walking out the door. Yao shot up stiffly. "Where are you going?" He said, stifling a yawn.

Ivan stopped at the door. He turned to look at Yao. He wore his fur coat and hat, his scarf covering his mouth so that only his large nose and bright eyes were visible. His slim eyebrows furrowed.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Ivan chuckled.

Yao began to protest, but Ivan interrupted.

"I'm going to the post office and some other errands. I will be back in an hour…" Ivan paused, shutting the door and, his boots clicking. He bent down, as though to kiss Yao's cheek. His breath tickled Yao's soft skin. "You see," he whispered, "spring is starting to rise from her slumber. Winter is at her end. Soon it will be warm enough to venture out without a jacket. I promise then that I will take you on adventures. We can go to the forest and collect mushrooms. We can go to the lake and feed the ducks that come. We can feed the geese that go '_gra, gra, gra' _and laugh at how they stretch out their necks to us. I promise that the spring and summer will bring beauty and joy to us. But you must suffer through this winter only a little bit longer." Ivan pulled away. His soliloquy ended on a strange note. Mystery lined the entire monologue and Yao could make little of it. He especially could not explain the rising hope and happiness in his chest.

Yao wanted to say something but Ivan continued speaking in a louder voice.

"No, dear Yao, we'll have to wait for spring. Though the sun shines faintly there is still another frost yet to come. Tell me, do you know how to ice skate? The lake I told you of is frozen over, just perfect to ice-skate on. In fact, some of the peasants are already there. When I come back, with some skates, I'll take you there."

"I don't know how," Yao said, eyes widening. He had seen several people ice skate before. How they balanced on those thin slices of metal and slid around, jumping and twirling, was beyond him.

"I'll teach you." Ivan said happily and this time he bent over and kissed Yao's cheek good-bye. He turned away, shutting the door behind him, and leaving Yao again in the insufferable silence.

Yao spent the day studying Russian and reading. Ivan took longer than an hour, coming back at noon when Yao had decided to eat lunch.

"Would you rather go in the night?" Ivan said, setting two pairs of ice skates down on a chair and taking off his coat. He sat beside Yao, picking up a slice of bread and spreading butter over it. He bit into it happily, opening the jar of pineapple jam. He swallowed, "Do you want some champagne?"

Yao refused, not wanting to be tipsy while he skated. He would be unbalanced enough then. So Ivan ate hungrily and huddled in blankets on the couch. Yao had discovered in the past few hours more about Ivan. The kind demeanor had proven to be only an outer shell. Although his genuine kindness and good will did come from inside, he had a bitter layer between them. He was often impatient and mysterious, taking his time to speak or to scowl. When he ate he ate hungrily and dismissed all manners. He laughed loudly and, when he spoke of serious things, became grim.

As promise, when night fell, the two bundled up in their coats and went outside. The walk from the house to the lake was short. A hill sloped down into crevice of the land where the lake was. It glistened in the silvery moonlight; frozen over with thick ice.

Yao pulled on the ice skates and Ivan did as well. Yao sat on a patch of grass, unable to balance upright on the skates. Ivan slid onto the top seamlessly, skating smoothly around it and testing where the ice was thin. None of it was too thin, fortunately, and Ivan, on one leg, with his left foot pointed forwards and hovering above the ice, slid towards Yao. He came to a halt, spraying fine, icy mist before him. It glittered like fairy dust, Yao fancied as he stood. Wobbling over to Ivan, he held out his hand. Ivan strongly pulled him on to the ice.

Yao yelped as his legs slid back behind him. Ivan laughed in response, crouching down to pull Yao with him. For an hour he taught Yao how to skate. Yao's legs became sore and his back stung. But he was relentless, never giving up and continuing on, determined to learn. By the end of the first hour he could sufficiently skate without Ivan's assistance, though he still fumbled.

The night drew on, growing darker. Stars speckled the sky and the moon hung low and full over them. It caught in Ivan's hair. Yao watched in awe, slipping and, holding Ivan's hands, falling into his chest. Ivan laughed again, just as he did whenever Yao fell, and encouraged him to go on.

Yao squeezed Ivan's hands and, standing straighter, went off on his own for a bit. Ivan lingered close by.

By the third hour Yao was exhausted, unable to lift his legs. They left the ice, which looked as though an insane writer had scribbled all over it in white ink. Yao dropped on the grass, taking off his skates and feeling free without them. When he pulled on his fur boots he was welcomed with even more comfort. The soft lining was welcome to his strained feet. Ivan grinned and, touching Yao's shoulder, took him home.

The second Yao's head hit the pillow he fell asleep. Ivan had to carry him the final stretch of the way. Yao was able to undress, though his head felt heavier and heavier with every button he undid. In the end, dressed in only his undergarments, he fell back and curled into the quilt.

Ivan left happily, his dark heart filled with pure joy. For once, something had gone just as he wanted it to.

It was now Ivan's turn to find it hard to sleep. He kept thinking about Yao. Yao had grown irate whenever he made a mistake and continued to work with even greater motivation. Ivan enjoyed that strong, fiery personality which shrunk away when confronted with strangers. Yao's determination was admirable.

That was not what troubled Ivan. What troubled him was how, whenever he imagined those dark eyes or accented voice, his heart soared in his chest. It thudded harder and he flushed all over. He grew excited and breathless whenever he thought more about this. He had never felt this emotion before.

He knew love. He loved his sisters, he loved his friends, he loved the way bells sounded when the tinkled on the bridles of horses, and he loved the way the moonlight looked on snow. But this was a whole other brand of love. This was new, exhilarating, and altogether an anomaly.

Ivan shifted in his bed, now laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. A cool comfort rolled over him when he remembered that Lena and Sveta would be joining them soon enough. He fell asleep, keeping in mind to ask them about it. This feeling was short-lived, however.


	6. The Ladies are Introduced

Yao woke up after a deep, comfortable sleep. He blinked away the grogginess from his eyes, sitting up slowly. His hair slid down his shoulders, hanging around his face like curtains. Sunlight spilled in, indicating the day's tread into noon. He had overslept but could hardly care. Slowly, taking his sweet time in each step, he pulled on his clothing and left for the kitchen to gather some breakfast.

When he approached the living room, however, he heard a low murmur of talking voices. He paused and slipped behind a wall, for he feared to intrude on some vital conversation.

Ivan's voice came into recognition, as well as a sharp, piercing voice of a young lady. Yao peered over the edge, curiosity bidding him to.

Sitting in the living room, Ivan was speaking with a stranger. He had his legs crossed, ankle over knee, and the tip of his nose was pink, his lips pale. Across from him was a young woman who could not have been more than eighteen. She had been unfortunately bestowed with two features that did not suit her. Her gray eyes were crossed and too close together on her face, and her upper lip was too small, constantly revealing her upper row of teeth. She looked like a rabbit and spoke in a twittering bird's voice. She wore her dark brown hair plaited and a blood-red shawl covered her dainty shoulders. She was so small Ivan could easily have picked her up by a single hand.

They were, surprisingly, speaking in French. Ivan rendered the language atrocious: stressing the wrong syllables and forgetting to omit certain others. The girl spoke it fluently and prettily. Yao felt hopelessly lost again. He had only begun to understand Russian lucidly and now he was hurled yet again into a word of uncertainty. However he never heard his name, first or last, mentions.

He exited the hallway, entering the living room in his silky robe. At once the girl stopped speaking and looked up at Yao, pulling her lower lip down to cover her shining white teeth. Yao walked over and she starred profusely at him, unable to determine his gender and whether or not to stick out her hand or to rise and embrace.

"This is Yao," Ivan said, in Russian.

Yao smiled, bowing in greeting. The girl's lip curled back up, revealing a glimmering smile.

"This is Ira. She's a friend of Sveta's and Lena's. She's come to tell us first-handedly that they will be unable to come and join us due to certain…" he paused, seeking a word to label the situation accurately, "to certain issues that have cropped up."

Ira nodded solemnly. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Yao, however unfortunate the circumstances may be." She said, also in Russian. She hadn't the trace of an accent. At least not as far as Yao could tell.

"It is nice to meet you too, Ira," Yao said quietly, falling back into shyness. Ivan was nearly taken aback, having forgotten that Yao could be shy and reserved.

Ira stood, patting down her brown dress. "It has been good seeing you, Ivan. I hope we shall meet again." Ivan approached her and, gently taking her delicate hand in his, kissed it. For an unknown reason Yao felt a stabbing pain in his chest. She pulled away, starting to leave, but she hesitated. She lingered at the doorway, her crossed eyes fastening onto Yao. "You a very fortunate to be under Ivan's protection, Yao… But…" she cleared her throat and started in broken mandarin: "he is more than you think." With that she bowed again and left, letting in a gust of cold end-of-winter air.

Yao frowned. A thin line appeared between his eyebrows.

"What has she said about me?" Ivan asked, the left side of his lips curling upwards. "Probably something foul!" He laughed in a way that signified that he was not at all amused.

Yao shook his head and realized Ivan was not watching. "No," he said slowly. He made his way into the kitchen and started to set the table for himself. When he reached their small, round table and found that it had already been set, he sat down and put the plate to his side. Picking up a piece of rye bread, he spread jam over it. Ivan had walked into the kitchen, his back towards Yao and his eyes looking out yonder. The window to the backyard, which seamlessly molded into the rest of the rural area, was square and located a step away from the door that let them outside.

"Do you want to go skating tonight again?" Ivan asked in the same monotone voice he used when dealing with business.

"It would be a pleasure," Yao said around a bite of bread.

Ivan lowered his shoulders, his eyes distant. The signs all signaled an ill humor working up inside him. Yao had picked up on that quickly. Ivan would look far off, bored almost, and his jaw would be loose though his lips still touched.

"Spring will be here soon," Ivan commented. Yao agreed. "Then we will be able to see more of the country. You can meet the townsfolk. This morning, before Ira came, I went out and visited them. I grew up with some of these people, you know."

"I thought you lived in the city." It dawned on Yao that he knew very little of Ivan's home life, besides the facts already given by the two maids back in Moscow.

"I did. But I was born here and I lived here for some time, going back and forth from home to home. My mother was one of the aristocratic people. I was her only son and therefore carrying the family name was set to me. My sisters are stubbornly refusing to get married. My youngest sister, Natalia, is nearing seventeen. Soon the family will seek out bachelors for her, just as they did for me."

"Who were you supposed to marry?"

"Oh, they brought in many young women. Some were shy little creatures, like doves, and all so small. I liked them the most because when they talked they always said something of importance. Other girls were stiff and intelligent. I had a good deal of amusing conversations with them. The ones I hated were the bright, energetic ones who prattled without reason. Ira was one of the shy ones and she still is. And the answer to your question is none. I refuse to marry like my sisters. My eldest, Katrina, two years my senior, is lovely enough to gain any man she wanted. You'll see when you meet them…" He trailed off.

Ira's image was brought back abruptly in Yao's mind. She was gentle and sweet, but at once a sour loathing boiled up inside him. He detested her, and for what reason he did not know. "She isn't very pretty," he said before he could stop.

Ivan did not move, "Perhaps not by the traditional definition of beauty."

Yao pressed his lips together, thoroughly regretting having let that slip and hurt Ivan.

"Do you love her?" Yao asked, picking up another slice of bread and placing salami on it.

Ivan turned around to look at him. He pulled up the chair across from Yao and sat down heavily, placing his wrists on the table. At length, he said; "Yes… But I do not love her in a way that I wish to whisk her away and hold her dearly in my arms. Marrying her perhaps I could be content with. But kissing her and affectionately touching her I cannot fathom. I do not detest the sight of her skin or the feel of it. I can't explain the feeling, really." Ivan ended weakly, picking up a tomato and rolling it between his fingers. The thin and tight red membrane gleamed in the morning light.

Yao bit into his bread, staring over it at Ivan. Ivan set the tomato back down and sighed.

"I am worried, however. I feel like I am her only hope. Most men hardly look at her long enough to anticipate her personality. I hardly did, but I was obliged to talk with her for at least an hour over tea. I learned very much and even made her laugh. She doesn't giggle, that's another thing. She's serious as a stone and if I ever caught her giggling in the few months I spent with her at fifteen years old, she was thirteen then, I knew that she was doing something malicious. And since then we've formed a great friendship. I want her to be happy."

"You met her at fifteen?" Yao asked. Already he understood the mechanics of courting and allowing the pair to meet young, form a friendship, and already have a bond of trust before manage. Still, he wanted to keep Ivan talking.

"Yes, it was a year before I was deployed as a soldier." Ivan shook his head, evidently wanting the contrary of Yao. He stood up and left Yao alone. Yao remained in silence, listening to Ivan's scuffling before he cleaned up the table. His hair was still loose and long at his back, catching the sunlight that ignited the delicate fibers like embers.

When he finished, he walked into the study to resume learning Russian. Ivan sat on a divan, his legs propped up and a heavy volume in his hands. Spectacles rested at the end of his nose. His lips were drawn tight in concentration and his fingers lingered at the corner of the page, ready to turn it. Yao, bewitched again for an unknown reason, had to pry his eyes away and quietly pad through the carpeted room, seeking his books from the rows of bookshelves. He found it and, seating himself in a different divan, began to study with only half his interest there. Constantly he caught himself looking at Ivan, watching him flip the patch with a popping sound. Ivan shifted his legs and kept his eyes pinned on the words, engrossed completely.

The study was behind Ivan's room, slightly towards the left and edging towards Yao's. Ivan did not speak of it on the first day, as he wanted it to remain a secret. But Yao eventually scrounged it out of him at dinner one evening. Before that Yao studied in his room.

After a long time unmarked by the clock, since there were none in the room, Ivan sat upright. He removed his spectacles and placed them on a nearby shelf. He held the book in his hands, his forefinger shoved in as a bookmark, with a lost, sad look one gets when finally pulling away from a good book. He yawned and stood, tucking a sheet of paper into his place and placing it beside his lenses. Scratching his head, he looked towards Yao who had started to wander through the array of books.

Yao stopped, feeling Ivan's movements, but he kept his eyes trained on the book at his fingertips. The title was written in English, a language even farther from Yao's recognition. Ivan cleared his throat, "Are you ready to have some lunch? I'll start preparing it. When you smell it, come." He turned away without waiting for a reply.

Unable to calm his heart down from the start it suffered at the sound of Ivan's voice, Yao bowed his head, lip trembling. Only then did it come to his realization that Sveta and Lena would not be coming. They would have already prepared the food. They would have explained to Yao why he felt that way. He felt that maids such as they had this extra sense for such seemingly nonsensical emotions.

After lunch, Ivan went back into the study and worked with paperwork, his novel longingly waiting him on its shelf. Yao walked through the home, studying the fine walls and furniture. Nearby one of the ottomans in the living room, Yao discovered a slightly opened drawer. He went to shut it, and realized something had jammed the way. Sticking its little ear out was a white, fresh envelope. Yao pulled the drawer by its gilded knob, pushing the envelope in. The front was inscribed with Chinese characters. Yao's pulse thundered in his throat.

_Wang Yao_

He picked it up and sat down on the ottoman, gently opening it. The flap was still glued tight and he paused, wondering if he should continue.

"It is for me…" he argued with his morals and proceeded to open it quietly, pulling out a yellowed piece of parchment written in vertical lines. Some characters were blurred, but nothing beyond Yao's sharp comprehension.

_Yao,_

_I hope his tyrannical oppression has not pressed to hard on you. How is he treating you, the Giant? He must be keeping you locked up because you have not replied. I wonder how you are. Send back as soon as possible._

Knitting his eyebrows, Yao wondered who could have gotten such notions into their mind. Ivan was far from a tyrannical leader and would have given Yao all his letters. He seemed open and kind-hearted enough. Yao was not too sure, until he read the next few lines.

_I only joke. I wonder if you believed me! That would have caught some drama. This is my first letter to you and I want you to respond back as soon as you can._

_-Xiang _

Yao burned with rage and humiliation, his cheeks flaring crimson. His cousin, Xiang, a boy with choppy black hair and thick eyebrows of only seven years had written it, hence the sloppy language. Some mistress must have revised it which could explain the neat lettering. Yao pondered it before slipping the letter back in and into the drawer, shutting it.

He grasped, after some pensive thought, that Ivan had purposefully placed the letter there. To joke or to make a point, Yao presumed.

They ate dinner and then went back to the lake. It glistened as before and Yao had improved considerably, only occasionally stumbling towards Ivan for support.

That was their agenda for a month and a half: eat, read, study, eat, various other activities, eat, skate, and then sleep.

Yao couldn't have asked for more. Through this time he had sparse conversations with Ivan that concerned either of them personally. Ivan had grown sullen, sinking himself deeper into thought. If Yao ever asked about the way he replied with a shrug or negation. If Yao asked about anything else he seemed to have gone temporarily deaf. So Yao held his silence and was never asked any questions back.

It was only when they went out ice skating that Ivan ever seemed to smile. He enjoyed the moonlight and cold and especially watching Yao improve. He clapped his hands in joy when Yao successfully made a spin or small jump.

Some days Ivan left to see the townsfolk or to gather supplies or for some other unknown reason. He returned rosy-cheeked and talkative.

Ira, too, came often. Yao only came to loathe the poor girl more and more. Her rabbit face especially became an object of dissatisfaction. Ivan smiled candidly around her, but mostly it seemed either strained or sorrowful. She showed no signs as to whether or not she loved him more than a good childhood friend. To Yao she was not unkind. Yet Yao, in a shy manner, would respond to her stiffly. She was not stupid and picked up on it, but could do nothing but tighten her big red shawl and feel hopeless.

At the end of the month and a half, Ivan's sisters came to visit.

Yao was sitting in the drawing room, reading calmly. Ivan was sitting across from him, frowning in anticipation. A loud knocking sounded and Yao jumped at the sound, dropping his book. He scrambled to pick it up and make himself presentable.

The two women came in, carrying trunks and wrapped in lighter, but still warm winter wear. Ivan hugged them both, kissing their cheeks in greeting. He stepped back and allowed them to enter, holding his hand out to Yao.

The first, the eldest, rushed up to Yao and embraced him briefly. She smelled of flowers and dry grass. Stepping back, Yao had a better look at her. She was his height, if not taller, and built sturdier. She was not fat but thick, as though she had lived on a farm her entire life. Her hair was shirt and tawny, the color of autumn grass by barn doors. Her eyes were bright and lively, set next to a protruding nose. Her lips were pale and smiling, revealing an even row of teeth. Her bust was not to be mistakable. She spoke loudly and happily.

"So you're the Yao Ivan keeps talking about! Oh, and do look at you! You are quite a lovely thing. If you had been a girl I would have mistaken you for a princess!" She beamed, carrying her bag and her sister's bag to the guest room next to Yao's. He had yet to look inside that room.

After the storm came the low tide. The youngest sister was taller that Yao and thin. Her face was long and brooding, her eyes looked intently at everyone, expecting to be fooled at once. Her hair was very long and braided. It was the color of a sky before a storm. She spoke in a quieter, sharper voice. Holding out a hand, bent at the wrist to Yao, she greeted him coolly.

Yao took it and shook gently. She pulled away her slender fingers and walked noiselessly to the guest room.

Yao looked after the two, feeling his shoulders still tingle after Katrina, the elder sister's embrace.

"You're all so different…" Yao said.

"No, not really," Ivan responded personally for the first time in nearly two months. "If we had been brothers then we would not even seem related. But in the end we still hold the same values and morals, just at different energy levels, I suppose."

At dinner this was proven.

Natalia picked at her food. Her hair now was tied back in a tight bone, lined with a white ribbon. Her nose pointed at the food, freckled very faintly at the tip. Katrina ate happily and poked at her food. She had recovered from an earlier weeping session. She had asked why Ivan decided to move here and he explained his resignation.

"My poor dear brother!" She cried, "They must miss you so!" Her lips trembled and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Now she had not even a trace of it on her face. She had dressed into a house dress, comfortably suiting her voluptuous figure. Her lips puckered when she chewed or downed a glass of liquor.

Natalia ate tight-lipped and made little comment. She screwed her eyes shut when she drank. They spoke when speaking and Yao felt alienated. But that was short-lived, too.

"Yao!" Katrina said, emphasizing the _ya_. "So you come from the east, don't you?

Yao nodded.

"Ah! It must be so different from here! Goodness, I can only imagine."

"Yes, very much so," Yao confirmed.

"You talk to him like a child," Natalia said.

"What and launch him right into a philosophical debate?" Katrina said, her smile slipping away briefly, "We have to welcome him in first."

"You speak like he isn't even listening." Ivan muttered.

"I am not," Katrina said, tears springing up in her eyes.

Natalia sighed, picking at the fish on her plate. "You are. You can speak to him about anything. He can't be much older than I am. And you speak to me about the French and how our aristocracy is becoming more corrupt by the moment."

"But we are the aristocracy." Ivan pointed out.

"That is exactly my point."

Katrina dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, assuming a more serious attitude. "We are not completely in the culture. We haven't been invited to any soirees or lounged about in a perfumed hall, smoking and drinking expensive wine." She brought her open hand to her lips and held it out, as if holding a cigar.

"But I believe," Yao ventured, gaining energy as he spoke, "I believe that it's bloodline that gives you that title rather than your actions. So you have no choice to be in that culture."

"So it may be, but others cannot see your bloodline as well as your actions," Natalia said.

"Yes, I've been mistaken for a pauper woman, a wife to a farmer as well," Katrina added in.

A silence that was not at all uncomfortable fell between them, filled with the clattering of forks on plates.

Softly, Ivan spoke up; "Yes, but whether you are a coward or a brave man, a farmer or a king, a pauper or a prince—you still receive the same great, glorious gift."

"And what might that be?" Natalia asked, her eyes flashing cleverly.

"Death," Ivan said morosely, his face becoming wary.

"Then why don't people see?"

"They can't see what they don't want to. They're too tangled up in life," Katrina said.

Another silence passed. That conversation was dropped and forgotten, though it still rung in Yao's ears. How these people could talk so freely of such serious matters at dinner baffled him. Then again he was still quite young as well. And Natalia was, though his junior by roughly a year, his senior by many in maturity.

"I can't help but love it," Ivan said, pouring each one of them sparkling champagne. It fizzed and bubbled in their glasses, glowing in an amber color under the lamp-light. He took up his glass and stood, pushing his chair behind him. He held it using his thumb and four other fingers, his forefinger sticking out, and the sisters picked up their glasses as well. Yao gingerly picked his up, holding it before him and watching the glittering bubbles rise to the surface.

"I hope that makes a good introduction into my toast," Ivan said affably smiling. "So I propose this toast to all. I know that there is bad in the world. I know there are people who strap helpless victims to raging animals or break bottles on one another's head, just to watch the blood seep. I know there are children that throw rocks at cats and dogs. I know there are those who steal from those who already suffer enough. But still, I believe there is goodness in the world. I still believe that inside everyone there is a gleam, a streak, of good and pure thoughts. And I love it all. I love the winter and I love the summer. I love the delicate leaves when they are ripe and green and also when they are coated with frost and frozen over. I like those who debate and those who remain quiet. I don't feel this way often. Usually I can think of nothing but my hatred for mankind and for those who speak without reason. So let us rejoice in this merriment! This blessed occasion of love! Oh if only I could learn to love like other young men who seem to care for every last thing as if it were their kin. If only the world wasn't ruled by men who held it in their heads to be in a permanent state of hatred and dispassion! But these are only 'if's and the potency of that word ends along with our imagination, stopped by that expedient common sense and misanthropy! Again, let us rejoice for the moments of extreme, passionate love!"

Beaming, they brought glasses together and downed the drinks, Natalia screwing her eyes shut as always and Katrina puckering her lips. Yao tasted it and found it likable, taking half of it in and feeling slightly tipsy.

Ivan threw his head back when he took a drink, his throat twitching as he swallowed. When he set the glass down his cheeks were red and his eyes alight with life.

Yao felt like he understood even less of Ivan than usual.

* * *

_First off, Ira's name is pronounce ee-ra, not eye-ra_

_Second off, thank you all so much for the reviews! I read every single one and take them into consideration. I take your advice and I try to apply it. I'll try my best to make the romance believable and the commas to be in the right place._

_I use Xiang as Hong Kong's human name because I feel that fits more. I'm sorry if it does not suit you but I cannot make everyone happy at once._

_If anyone was wondering Ivan was reading _War and Peace _by Lev Tolstoy. At this time the book should have been relatively new, though this is again historical FICTION and not set in a specific time._

_Thank you for reading!_


	7. Spring: A Season of Renewal and Sparrows

During the sisters' stay Ivan ceased taking Yao out to go ice-skating-or anywhere similar, for that matter. The first few nights he hardly noticed, having been preoccupied with dinners and talking with the sisters. They, once having opened up to Yao, had become increasingly interesting. Natalia proved herself to be highly intelligent. Her flashing eyes cleverly noticed a multitude of details that otherwise would have gone unseen. She could perform her sums offhandedly. Once Yao walked up to her while she folded laundry and launched and unexpected quiz. She answered each question correctly without looking up.

However she scarcely smiled or showed any signs of happiness. Morosely she looked out windows, crumpling her dresses in her slender fists, and puckered her face in misanthropy. At other times she spoke clearly and stoically. Yao found it harder to understand her, for some reason. He felt as though she was convinced the world had committed a great crime against her and she was forced to live in constant mistrust.

Katrina, on the other hand, proved to be preppy and bright. She was thickly muscled, her forearms flexing when she picked up heavy objects. Whenever she turned around too quickly and one of the buttons going down her blouse popped off she sighed and picked it up, sewing it back on and continuing her task. She spoke often to Yao and rarely pronounced her gs. She helped him with his Russian and taught him a handful of Ukrainian phrases.

Soon Yao noticed that Ivan spoke to him less and less. When he did it was a single world or nod of head. Then again, he didn't speak to his sisters often either. At dinner he barely opened his mouth, save for the first night when their arrival was still fresh and bright.

And Yao only felt his emotions stir. They became an agitated ocean, swirling incessantly and lapping up at his eyes. He felt tears spring up on these occasions and, having never been confronted with such a tidal wave before, hid himself away, ashamed of his weeping. The ocean tumbled in his stomach, churning as though attacked by a storm. When Ivan spoke a single word to him it roared and his heart shook. His cheeks reddened and he was unable to control it.

These emotions were no strangers to Ivan, either. In him it was a blizzard, swirling and engulfing a multitude of bivouacking soldiers. The blackness of night was spotted with heavy, cold snowflakes. He didn't notice that Yao blushed when he spoke to him because he was distracted with keeping the red out of his own cheeks, nose, and neck. He could not understand them and loathed the surges. He refused to speak to Yao, out of fear of them.

One night, when Yao and Katrina had fallen asleep and only Natalia remained awake, sipping tea, Ivan approached her. He sat across from her, looking at her. She caught his glance and cast her eyes towards him, lowering her teacup and setting it daintily on her lap. She wore a pure white night gown, falling just short of her ankles, exposing her bare feet.

"Yes?" She asked.

"I need to ask you something, sister," he said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Is it about Yao?"

The tips of Ivan's ears turned pink.

Barely smiling, Natalia nodded as if to say: "yes, I know."

"I need an explanation." Ivan said, gathering his feeble strength.

"I see," she scratched the side of her long nose. "Go on."

"Why is it that I can't speak to him like a normal human being? I can't utter more than a sentence before being attacked by an onslaught of wretched feelings."

"I see."

"What do you see?"

"Tell me, brother, why do you even have him here? Your maid told us that he would be there but she only said that you had somehow got a hold of him. Details were omitted."

Something, perhaps the wind, stirred and caused a rustling sound across from Ivan. He looked upwards and then, shrugging, looked back at Natalia. "He was supposed to be executed for a crime I suppose he did not do. He had yet to be convicted and the people who were trying to prosecute him were some rogues from another part of the world. I don't know what the crime was but from the conditions described to me by a drunken soldier I could tell that it was horrible."

Natalia interrupted; "How do you know it was the truth? The man must have been senselessly drunk."

"At the time I didn't know. He told the story many times. I suppose it suited his fancy. At any rate I agreed to take him home, also drunk, but also trying to do something worthwhile in my miserable life after…" he trailed off. Natalia, understanding the circumstance, nodded again in understanding. "Well what you know. And so I offered to buy him off but some of his friends wanted him alive and gave him away, sending him on a carriage, and that was that. I saved his life, I suppose."

Natalia fingered the gilded rim of her cup. "Do you like him?"

"I've come to like him quite a lot." Ivan said. "He's a pleasure to have along. When we went ice skating, remind me to take him again, he would touch me to hold on. The skin he touched burned. It's an anomaly."

"Are you infatuated with him?" she asked, bluntly.

Ivan's nose turned crimson and the blood jumped to his cheeks. He looked down, curling both upper- and bottom-lip in and biting them. "You mean like a man would his wife?"

"Yes, as you are with Ira."

"I am not infatuated with her. I love her. She is one of my greatest friends. I don't understand this…"

"I don't know anything about love." Natalia said, standing up and placing her cup on the coffee table. "I have not loved anyone in my life. But I suppose you love him more than a friend. Maybe you should marry him." She turned away, her braided hair swinging at her back. She walked stiffly, annoyed that her brother didn't understand the simplest emotion, and stopped at the hallway.

"Pardon me," she said and walked past Yao.

Yao walked into the kitchen, trying to resume his original course of action from earlier. He had felt parched and found the carafe in his room to be empty. Now the empty silver-colored jug hung from his hand. His face was pale and his flowing hair loose around his shoulders. He walked into the kitchen, finding another carafe loaded with ice and pouring a portion into his.

Ivan stood up and, padding softly, followed Yao. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Botches of red still tingled on his face. Yao, sleepy, peered over his shoulder at him.

"Hello," he said quietly.

Ivan nodded, puffing breath from his nose.

Yao, having completed his task, started towards his room. Ivan reached out and took hold of Yao's arm. Yao paused, looking back and feeling the heat of Ivan's large hand on him. "Yes…?"

Ivan knitted his eyebrows together. "You heard that all. Didn't you?"

"Unfortunately that is the case."

"Good. I heard you coming. I wanted you to hear why I brought you hear. The other part I would advise you to forget." His fingers still locked onto Yao's arm.

"Will do, Ivan," Yao said, addressing Ivan by name for the first time in uncomfortably dark tones.

Ivan let go, his hand falling limply at his side.

In his room, after putting away the carafe and forgetting to take a drink, Yao slumped on his bed. He laid his head back on the crumpled and warm pillow, looking towards the ceiling. Moonlight bathed the walls and bedspread, highlighting Yao's pale, exposed legs. He stretched his toes and placed his hands on his stomach, breathing slowly.

Nothing made sense to him anymore. Ivan was mysterious and often forceful and to have that feeling from him directed at Yao was… strange. Yao had never felt very interest in the fair sex. Women were beautiful, of course, but it ended at that. He knew he would have to marry and bear children, but that was a vague, distant dream. But pressing his lips to Ivan's was….

No. Yao rolled over, covering his face with his hair and screwing his eyes shut. He curled his knees up to his chest, holding them tightly.

Spring had already come. The buds were blooming into beautiful psychedelic flowers. The sky gleamed bright blue—as though enameled. Trees rustled in warm winds. The snow capping the mountains now melted away, fading to a dim white in recollection of the winter. The lake once frozen was now clear, moving, blue water. Ivan didn't have time to take Yao out again for another go. By the time he asked Natalia to remind him the ice had already melted.

The morning following Yao's eavesdropping, he woke up to the sound of twittering birds. He stood up, happy to greet another spring day. He dressed in a cotton shirt and similar pants, pulling on sandals rather than boots, and ventured out to the backyard.

Outside, carrying an empty basket, Katrina stood singing to herself.

_..Come to the edge, Katyusha_

_To the very highest edge_

_Come forth as the song goes on_

_For the one you loved most of all_

_Oh you, my maiden's song_

_Go fly to end of the sun's brilliance_

_And from Katyusha give him her word_

_Let him remember a plain girl_

_Let him hear how she sings!_

_Let him save his motherland!_

_Let him save his lovely Katyusha!_

_So fall forth the apples and the pears…_

She hummed the rest to herself. Her fair hair partially hid under a checkered kerchief. She wore a simple dress, swaying as she moved around and sought mushrooms. She squatted down on her heels, pushing away grass and crying out, her song ending abruptly. Yao rushed over to her, for she was on the far end of their property, and asked her what had happened.

Scooting away, she kept her dirt stained hands lifting a patch of grass. Below it, chest heaving and splattered in blood laid a wounded bird. Its black eyes gazed at Yao, its tiny head barely moving. It was a brown and black sparrow, desperately trying to lift its damaged wing. Gently, he picked it up, holding it in its cupped hands. It winced and writhed, trying to scrabble away.

"Give it to brother at once!" Katrina said, dropping her basket and standing to her feet. She placed her hand at her chest. "He'll know what to do, go on know!"

So Yao did, holding the fragile body delicately but running at top speed. Once at home, he found Ivan in his study, reading again from his hefty volume. "Ivan?" Yao called in urgently.

Ivan jerked his head towards him, causing his spectacles to slip off. He stood up, placing the book and glasses away, and rushed to Yao. Yao held out the bird, which breathed rapidly in fear, flapping its good wing.

Laughing, Ivan took the bird in his own hands and walked down the shelves. "You looked so panicked, I though Natalia finally fell down a well or something." He picked up a small box from one of the shelves and opened it, finding a bandage. It came from his war days, battered and stained, but otherwise in perfect condition. He started to fix the bird up. "She worries so much over these poor animals. Whenever she found one limping or hurt in any way she would pick it up and run home crying. We must have tended to a dozen strays then. But then again…" he paused, watching the bird inspect the bandage. It must have realized that Ivan's intentions were good and helpful. "Then again it did help me later on. In the army they were surprised when they found out I could bandage any wound up in a matter of minutes."

Yao smiled. The bird hopped around on the shelves and Ivan gathered it back in his hands, holding it out to Yao. Yao cupped his hands and the bird jumped in. Ivan smiled back. "Give her back to Katrina. She will know how to take care of him."

So Yao did. Katrina made a small nest-like structure out of fabrics and her basket. She laid the bird in, warmth spreading across her face. Ivan watched, placing his hand on his sister's shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you," he muttered.

She, tears springing in her eyes from her brother's sudden gush of emotion, rounded on him. "For what?"

"For making me remember what true compassion is," he said and returned to his study.

Katrina watched after him, her big cow-eyes becoming sad. "Goodness," she said, picking up Yao's hand and pressing it gently. "How can you stand to live with him? He never gives a straight answer! He always has to be elusive. Ha! As if he fools anyone with the act. Oh-h-!" Tears rolled down her cheeks and she pulled Yao into a very tight embrace. Yao stiffened, unable to breath. She pulled away and, muttering something, pressed his hand again and went on with her business, pulling the kerchief from her head and using it to wipe her cheeks.

The bird's nest now sat in the living room. When Natalia wandered there after returning from a walk outside, she found it there. Approaching it with an outstretched hand, Ivan cut her off.

"Watch out, Natya, it might peck your eyes out."

Natalia jumped, looking fearfully at the basket. She had not seen the contents yet. "Ivan," she warned, looking around for where he spoke from. "What's in there?"

Ivan exited the kitchen, holding a piece of black bread topped with salmon. "It's just a bird, sister, I was only kidding."

"Oh." Natalia said, deciding to leave the basket alone for the time being. She turned away and paused before Ivan, feeling his heat and presence—a kind that all men seem to give off. "Have you felt any better since yesterday?"

"Yes. Katya brought the bird in."

Natalia smiled. Her pale lips revealed her small, white teeth. It lightened up her face and gave her the look of a princess. "Just like when we were children?"

"Exactly so."

The smile fell away. "Where is she? Where is Yao?"

"Yao is in the study doing some Russian reading. I don't know where Katrina is."

"I suppose we should leave her as she is." Natalia said and walked away, her shoes clicking against the floor.

Later that day the two sisters decided to make dinner. Katrina busily set a pot of water to boil and began chopping beets. Natalia, sitting at a chair and hunched over a bucket, peeled tomatoes. Her sleeves were rolled up and her hair braided back tightly.

Katrina started to make a conversation with her several times, hesitated, and fell silent again. Around the tenth time she did so, Natalia sighed.

"No, sister, I refuse to play match-maker with you. We are not wealthy old women with nothing else to do. I refuse." She placed the clean potato in a bowl and picked up another, digging the knife into it and testily slicing away the brown outer layer.

"But you know how hopeless men are. If one of them was a woman then maybe there would be some sense, but alas…" she sighed and placed the beets in a bowl, her hands stained red. She moved on to carrots. She held the knife right above the end and then set it down gently. Hunching her shoulders, she leaned against the counter. "I feel so terrible letting the two walk right past each other. I bet neither realizes the extent of their feelings!"

"Give them time and they will mature." Natalia said warily.

"Oh but I am so tired of waiting!" Katrina cried, chopping the carrot angrily, "I don't want to watch them suffer! I want them to embrace and kiss warmly!"

"And what if Ivan is sent back to the war? You know things have been going badly for our side lately. It's only a matter of time before they call their best man back."

"But he's retired, sister!"

"So he may be, but they'll grab him by the hair and drag him in no matter how much he pleads."

"And what if he—he—doesn't return?"

"That is exactly what I was referring to, dear sister. It is not a good thing for him to fall in love. On that matter, where will Yao go?"

"Back to Moscow, I suppose. Or home, even, or perhaps they'll send him to Paris or Milan."

"And furthermore, where are they?" Natalia looked up and down the hallway, into the vacant living room.

"I believe Ivan went out to see some of the townsfolk. He told me that some have invited all of us to visit tomorrow. It will certainly be interesting! Imagine all the different personalities we'll meet. And as for Yao," Katrina paused, checking the boiling water. "I think he's outside." She stood on her tip-toes and glanced out the window into the backyard. Sure enough, Yao was there. He stood by a tree, apparently busied with something small in his hands. The air was warm enough to warrant his thin silks again. Earlier Natalia had tied his hair into a braid, though she didn't admit it to her siblings. "Yes he is." She confirmed and fell silent for the rest of the preparations.

The borscht that night was impeccable. Though Ivan arrived finally when the three there were half-way done. His cheeks were rosy and his lips red, but his eyes were brooding and gloomy yet again. He stood at the door way, his shoulders pushed forwards. He wore his cotton shirt, unbuttoned at the top and exposing his chest and the top of a long, ropy white scar. His feet were far apart and still, his fingers pale and the cuticles starting to become red.

"What is it?" Katrina asked, wide-eyed.

Grudgingly, Ivan shook his head and entered the room, slumping down on his chair and pulling his bowl filled with lukewarm soup towards him. The red concoction slopped down the sides with his gruffness.

No one ever found out what had happened to Ivan that evening.

* * *

_**BEFORE YOU ASK ABOUT IT, PLEASE READ:**_

_The song Katrina was singing was Katyusha, a very notorious Russian song. The translation here is NOT exact. It was slightly modified to be more poetic, if you will. But the meaning holds true and I hope the emotions are conveyed truthfully as well. _

_Usage of Katya and Natya - they're nicknames. There is no exact nickname for any Russian name and these are just possible ones. Katyusha and Nastya could also be used, I suppose._


	8. Do Not Touch Love Directly

"Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, please."

Yao sat on a dump couch, squished between Natalia and Katrina. On the other side of Katrina sat Ivan, all huddled together in the rural house of one of their neighbors. A square table was positioned before them covered in a striped cloth. The speaker was the woman of the household, a pregnant, lovely lady with curled black hair and a warm dress. She, her back tilted backwards, went into the kitchen to fetch the tea.

Across from them, on a prickly wooden chair, was her husband; a thin, bony man with a salt and pepper mustache and curly hair of the same colors. "It's a pleasure to meet you all." He said softly, scratching his neck. He was one of Ivan's fellow soldiers, retiring a year before Ivan did.

"And a pleasure to meet you, too," Katrina said, smiling radiantly.

The couple, along with the child in the wife's belly, also had a little girl. The girl shyly looked at them, tempted to touch Natalia and Yao's hair for its long, silky beauty. Her name was Varvara. Her mother was Natasha and her father Nikolai. She neared closer and Ivan spotted her, beaming and lifting her into his arms. She blushed at the strange man's touch and he placed her on his knee, like a cheery uncle would. Katrina doted on her as well, speaking in sweet tones to the toddler. "Oh what a darling child!"

"Children are so sweet and innocent, unlike us brutish adults." Ivan said and handed the girl over to Katrina, whom she had taken a fancy to.

Laughing, Nikolai agreed. "Ai, yes, children are quite the little angels. My wife and I have tried for many, but she is the first to live of many. Now we are trying again, and I pray this time it will turn out to be well."

Ivan nodded.

Natalia stared at the child in distrust, her eyes wide and her lips pursed. "What do you want, girl?" She seemed to express.

Yao looked over and Varvara looked at him and crimsoned, pointing to his hair and asking in squeaky tones to touch. Gladly, Yao pulled her over and she took his hair in tiny fists, touching it gently before hopping away, bashful and excited. Her black hair was tied back into two red ribbons and she picked at her big red lower lip, her intelligent eyes looking towards her father.

Natalia recoiled when the girl came past her, like one might a strange animal. She did not hate children. She just did not understand how to interact with them. In fact, like her brother, she quite enjoyed them and their presence. Katrina said that she would learn with age. Natalia doubted it but bowed her head in agreement.

Natasha came back with a tray, giving a cup of tea to all of them. She set it down, her cheeks blotchy and her hand on her back.

"Sit down, my love," Nikolai said, standing and helping her take his seat. She flushed and thanked him.

"Oh I feel dreadful for making you work!" Katrina cried out, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

"No, not at all!" Natasha protested, looking at Katrina profusely.

Nikolai tapped Ivan on the shoulder and the two men left, leaving Yao with the ladies.

Natasha's loving eyes lingered on Yao. She spoke to him about his home and about Ivan. He blushed slightly when he mentioned Ivan and hid his face by turning away. She only smiled in reply.

"Come here, Yao," Ivan called and Yao stood, leaving them.

As he left, Natasha looked towards the sisters. "Is it strange to want these two men to be together?" she asked in an undertone.

"We've been… I've been trying to make it happen," Katrina whispered, correcting herself at Natalia's sharp glance.

"I feel like an old lady when I say this but I feel like something must be done." Natasha giggled, placing her hand on her stomach and rubbing it.

Back in the kitchen, Yao stood between Nikolai and Ivan. In front of him was an opened jar of homemade cherry jam. Ivan picked up a piece of black bread and with a spoon spread some of its contents. He held it before Yao and Yao bit into it, feeling Ivan's fingers brush against his lips. He kept his eyes shut, enjoying the delicious flavors and complementing Nikolai.

When he opened his eyes he met Ivan's own, colorful irises and his heart dropped straight into his knees. The time for tomfoolery was done. Dancing around trees and chasing each other's tails, teasing with brief touches was all a thing of the past. Ivan's warm spread into Yao and he felt something change inside him. Ah, so this was love? Such a strange, beautiful, fluttering, painful, loathsome, addictive feeling boiling up in his stomach that foretold betrayal at any possible moment-!

Yao smiled at Nikolai and thanked him, returning to the couch and sitting down, his shoulders stiff and his teeth clenched.

At once he had set it in his mind to make Ivan's his and give himself completely to Ivan. But still the love was strange and nasty—and all the same omnipotent. Yao fiddled with the ends of his sleeves, not paying attention to the conversation.

He barely noticed when he exchanged good-byes with the family and left to visit another. He didn't pay attention to these new residents either, completely consumed in his own thoughts and unable to function properly. Ivan barely seemed to notice.

The next residents they visited were Ira and her family. Her father a retired general and her mother once of aristocracy but having fallen out of it due to sickness that led her to believe that the rural life would be better for her. Ira had two siblings—a brooding young man who was sly and malicious, grimacing at the faintest sounds and falling ill often. Her other sibling was an older sister who was married but had come for a visit.

The conversations were animated but the eyes of Ira's family constantly focused on Ira and Ivan, egging them on to romance as they hungered for. Natalia and Katrina watched uneasily. Yao broke away from his reverie when this happened several times. He felt not only ignored but heatedly jealousy. Green envy poisoned him and he wanted to tear Ira out of the picture and replace her with himself.

What baffled him more was that Ivan complied with it. Ivan agreed to the glances and even took Ira's small hand in his from time to time; smiling brightly and complimenting her, saying fanciful French phrases to her that caused her to chuckle lightly.

Yao's eyes met with Natalia's and then with Katrina's. Both responded with morose, pitiful looks. Yao felt crushed. His entire fantasies where nothing but illusions: dreams that would never become real.

Yao looked at his hands, trembling and wishing it all over. Just marry her. Go on, get it over with, and leave me in the dust.

Natalia placed a finger on his sleeve and asked him to come outside for a moment, excusing herself from the family. She took Yao out to the front yard, where the warm air trailed through the afternoon day, caressing the flowers and rustling the leaves. Her own hair shifted slightly. She looked down at him sternly, her pale lips drawn thin.

"I promised myself I would not interfere." Natalia said, sighing, "But I suppose I should tell you something. Last night, after dinner and after you and Katrina went to bed; Ivan wanted to speak to me again. This time you didn't sneak up, surprisingly, so you would not know of this. Anyway, he said that he wanted to marry Ira and would propose the next day."

Yao furrowed his eyebrows, trying not to allow tears to spill down his cheeks.

"But he had his reasons. You know what they are? He said 'you never look directly at love because it will be damaged.' He said that because he loves you. He makes rash decisions sometimes and you have to deal with them. He wants to marry her because that is the 'regular' method. You need to understand that he does not love her but her family needs the money and she needs the self-respect."

"He loves me…?" Yao whispered hoarsely, looking back at the house painfully and allowing the tears to flow down his cheeks freely now.

"Yes." Natalia said and stepped back. She pressed her rough thumb against his cheeks and wiped them dry, like a nurse to a child. "Wait here. I think you should go home."

He nodded mutely, staring out into the distance. Summer was approaching and he could see, leaning against the post standing outside the house, a set of bells. Bells that were made in summer; without a care and by candid hands. Bells for the summer and the warm air. But now they did not sound, even as they trembled in the breeze, all noise blocked by the horror filling Yao's ears.

Summer bells ringing silently.

* * *

_Thank you all again for the reviews! They make me smile and so happy I just adore it-thank you so much!_

_Sorry for the short chapter. Love is so difficult to write about I'm afraid to spoil it and make it seemed forced. I'm putting my all into this and I hope it shows. _


	9. The Cold-Hearted Witch

Yao lingered in the living room, standing with his hands behind his back. Natalia watched him, sitting daintily on the couch. The door was open, to allow warm wind to seep in and warm the house. They had returned from Ira's. Natalia had excused them both on account that Yao had felt unwell. So she took him home and now dressed in her house dress, watched him sympathetically.

"Why don't you marry the one you love?" Yao muttered to himself, pronouncing harshly and feeling hot anger rise up, "I know Ivan is a strange man. His ways are mysterious and unpredictable, but still this is a stretch. There must be more to it!"

Natalia's eyes flashed at him, the icy irises betraying her annoyance. "You will find out soon enough, Yao," she said, patting down the wrinkles in her dress.

"So you do know!" He said, curling his upper lip to show his pretty white teeth. As he grew accustomed to the sisters his temper showed more often. His youth inflicted it and now his betrayal did as well. Only earlier that day he realized the full potency of his love and now it was all but a vague dream of the past. "You witch." He added and instantly regretted it. Flushing furiously he turned away, ashamed.

Natalia shrugged, fastening eyes onto his back. "Do not fret, Yao, I've been called that ever since I was only a little girl. I've grown used to it by now."

"Being used to it doesn't make it hurt any less."

Natalia too averted her gaze and rested her elbow on the divan's arm, her chin on her palm. "Perhaps it doesn't but what difference does it make? I am a witch I suppose. I'm a wretch, a cold hearted temptress. I am not that sweet, gentle motherly figure my sister is. Nor am I a brave man like my brother. I am nothing but a weak little thing." As she spoke her words steadily grew more bitter and resentful, ended in a dull murmur.

Up until that moment Yao realized that he had never listened to her. She had patiently listened and helped in her own, cold way and yet no one returned the gift. Yao had simply assumed that she could fend for herself and did not require assistance. He felt ever more ashamed and approached her, sitting beside her. Her eyes were dry and her lips expressionless.

"Natalia…?" Yao asked softly.

She cast her eyes at him.

"I'm sorry."

Her eyes flashed but she did not respond.

Yao continued; "I'm sorry. I'm very sorry for ignoring you and for taking you for granted. You are a beautiful and kind woman, though your appearance makes it seem untrue."

"Beauty is relative. I do not wish to be seen as a beautiful woman. Oh…" she muttered and lowered her hand that supported her head, tilting her chin down. She gathered her hands in her lap and laced her fingers together. "Oh how I wish to disfigure my face! How I wish to cut off my hair and mutilate my appearance! I want to be seen for who I am rather than how I look!"

"That's not what I meant," Yao said, then paused. He searched for an explanation and only found one. "A moment," he said and went off.

Natalia remained in the same room, staring down at her tangled fingers and blinking rapidly, trying to stop the glutting tears. When she head Yao's reserved, quiet footsteps she raised her chin and addressed him calmly.

Yao stood before her, in his cupped hands was the wounded bird. Katrina had cared for it well and had promised that she would release it the next day. "Hold out your hands," Yao said.

Hesitant, Natalia cupped her hands and raised them as though begging for water. The bird hopped down into her hands and she flinched. It fluttered its wings in alarm and once Natalia, wide eyed, had relaxed, it too settled and seated itself in Natalia's hands, gazing up at her with stone-like black eyes.

"Why do you wince when you see these things? You did not like the little girl near you and now you cower at the sight of a harmless bird." Yao asked in soothing, warm tones.

Natalia examined the bird and, moving it over to one hand, raised her other and petted it gently with her forefinger. She passed the fingertip along its slender skull, feeling the smooth feathers shift under her delicate touch. The bird shifted its wings and she pulled away, terror-stricken. However it appeared unharmed and, actually, quite content so she continued to pet it.

"I suppose," she began slowly, barely parting her lips; "I suppose that I am afraid of corrupting them. I don't really know. Ivan and Katrina both adore things like this. Ivan once stopped in the middle of a siege to ward off a mother and her infant from the battlefield. They had wrongly walked on, or maybe she saw her husband and in a mad rush of love wanted to find him, but regardless of the reason Ivan, blood- and dirt-stained rushed to them and kept the babe and its mother well out of the way. Katrina is motherly, heavenly so, even. She cares for any small or helpless thing in her path. She takes it in and nurses it. She was a mother to her group of friends when she was still in school…" Natalia trailed off and returned the bird to Yao, who took it in both hands.

"I think you're wrong about corrupting it. I think that maybe you're afraid to care."

She disagreed curtly.

"What I meant about your beauty is your purity. On the contrary of what you believe yourself to be, you are very amiable. You care. The way you held it, fearing for its safety as though it were a fragile object, shows the most tender of care—the kind that works in the distance without smothering what it loves."

She buried herself in thought. Yao replaced the bird to its blankets and when he reentered the living room, Natalia was not there.

He sought her in the backyard and living room and then the rest of the house. She was nowhere to be seen. Ultimately he decided to look outside. Sure enough, there she was. She, now a speck in the distance, had ventured barefoot to the lake. Yao went after her, terrified by some unintelligible reason.

"Natalia!" He cried out. She stopped and whipped around, started.

"Yes?"

He stopped short before her, realizing that she did not seem to have any malign motives. "I was worried," he said.

"You were wrong." Was her reply and she continued to walk towards the lake, stepping on sharp grasses and causing them to crackle under her weight. She edged towards the brim of the lake. It spread out before them, deiced and warm. The blue shimmered in the sunlight and the golden sand below was clearly visible. Fish swarmed in areas and then dispatched. Clams and snails slowly trekked through the bottom, drawing lines behind them to show how far they've come in life's journey. Natalia dipped down and pushed her hands below the warm water. It glided along her bare hands smoothly, as clean water does, and touched the sand. She traced drawings and pinched an amount of sand between two fingers. Letting go, it flourished, creating a golden cloud below the water that caught the light so—like millions of glimmering jewels.

"You were wrong about me loving something too nonchalantly."

"Oh?" Yao asked, quite lost.

"I once loved something too much and it tore a piece of me out. You believe yourself to be a good judge of character and that you are. But you are still far from being a great one. You got most of the details correctly. I suppose in your eyes I am pure. I do cower from things that I might love. I don't fear you because I know I'll never love you… But I am addictive. I'm a witch! I'm a diabolical, sour, horrid witch that poisons all she loves. I latch onto things and I don't let go. I end up hurting them unintentionally or coming off as insane and that I am, I suppose. I'm dispassionate because I was once too passionate."

"Oh." Yao muttered, looking down into the lake's depths. The middle, where it was deepest, seemed only a small fathom below. In reality it was many more fathoms. And in a way it reminded him of the family. Each one, Ivan and Katrina and Natalia, appeared so shallow and easy to see through, but in reality were much, much more complex. Each had their share of sufferings that time had hidden, but not completely healed. Ivan had his war struggles and some new unapproachable one. Katrina seemed simple enough but there must be a reason to her incessant loving. And Natalia had just opened up a small portion of her heart to him. Yao felt dizzy and decided to turn back, but paused, his back towards the woman. "Why did you come here?"

"To see the lake. Or is that a crime?" she replied.

"I see." Yao continued and went home.

An hour later, Katrina came home. Her cheeks were rosy and her nose crimson. She looked around the room, not finding anyone in the living room. Ivan had remained at Ira's for his own reasons. Katrina found Yao in his study, flipping through a Russian volume. In that same study Natalia browsed through books. Her fingers trailed along the edges.

She looked up when Katrina came and asked something in a language very similar to Russian but just below Yao's grasp. She spoke in Belorussian and Katrina responded in Ukrainian. Both understood either language but could only proficiently speak one respectively.

From Katrina's morose tone Yao correctly conjectured that it concerned Ivan.

"Well, I'm dreadfully sleepy. I have a good few drinks in me and a lot of food. Oh that Ira can cook!" Katrina said, yawning. "I'm off to sleep. Goodnight!"

"I think I'll sleep as well. Tomorrow morning I'll make Drainikis." Natalia said and the two left for bed. Drainikis are a Belorussian breakfast food that is essentially potato pancakes. Yao had once heard Natalia explain her desire to make some. Along with that conversation the question as to how the two were from such different cultures came about. The idea was that a year before Ivan retired the two went off in different directions to the certain parts and were integrated in the culture that their nurses and in part their friends had introduced them to. Ivan firmly remained in Russian, driving towards his goal as a general; which in the end he achieved along with legendary status.

Yao remained in the room for a while yet, until sleep tugged at his eyelids and he could no longer protest. He rose and left for bed, turning out the lamps and, once having readied himself for sleep, feel on to the bed and drifted off into a slumber.

At breakfast the rich smell of food wafted in, rousing Yao. Yao eagerly went to the kitchen where Natalia piled the cakes on a plate. Katrina was seated, slightly rumpled with the aftershock of heavy food and drink. Still, she beamed at Yao and bade him good morning.

"How was your sleep?" she asked.

"Well, you?" and so on.

When they were half way through the delicious stack, the door swung open and Ivan entered. They stopped eating and turned, looking at him in gripping silence. The man at the doorway was still Ivan; with silvery hair and his strong jaw, his broad shoulders and his commoner clothing. His lips were pink and his cheeks full—all youthful and beardless. His eyes were downcast and sullen. Puffy pink circles ringed them and his steps were heavy and slow, dragging along the floor. Tufts of hair at the sides of his head stood up apart from the rest, as though having been tugged at. He rubbed his eye and took his place at the table.

"Whatever happened?" Yao dared to ask.

"You never tackle love headlong." Ivan muttered, taking one of the cakes in his hands and nibbling at it.

"Is it alright if I explain it?" Katrina asked compassionately.

Ivan shook his head and took a large bite, muscles along his neck and mouth twitching. "No, Katya, I'll explain it. That was is best. Yao, you know I… I am quite fond of you," he said, already coloring—his cheeks becoming crimson. He cleared his throat and continued as though nothing had changed, but his cheeks remained the same hue. "But I loved Ira dearly and her dying wish was for me to marry her. You've seen her when she was well, moving about enough and ceasing her heartrending coughing for an hour at a time. The doctors had tried their best but she had a number of illnesses. She was dying. She loved me and I was the only one who could fathom loving her back."

"When will the wedding be?" Yao asked, coming off harsher than intended.

"Last night," Ivan responded, "Last night was also her very final night upon this earth. I'm glad to have come just in time. I stayed behind to remain with her until her final breath left her body, taking her life along with her. The sickly, delicate girl was a bruised flower. Beautiful, but also damaged."

"I'm very sorry," Yao said softly, regretting his cruel words and thoughts against her.

They all bowed their heads and continued eating in silence.

"But you don't cry at this?" Yao asked in an undertone.

"No," Ivan's lips twitched, almost into a smile. "I've seen very much death in my life. It's the tragedies that lie ahead of me that will cause tears to wrench from my eyes. It's what fate has in store for me that will tilt worlds."

"How can you be so sure?" Yao asked, stunned and afraid.

Ivan rose, pushing his chair back with his calves. "I have my resources. And for now these marked tragedies will have to wait. Creation and destruction, love and hate, peace and war, kindness and brutality all are inseparable. Indivisibly they stand together, muses clutching to each other. Maybe you don't believe in this but I do. I do believe that for every good thing there is a bad thing to match it." He left the room, his words still dangling in the air. It echoed in their ears like a gunshot; even if it was not violent or catastrophic. It did not tear the grown or rip the membrane of the sky from the earth, but it may as well have.


	10. Sing My Love

In the summertime the days stretched longer and longer. The sun rose at five or six and did not sink back below the earth until very late. Trees flourished with life, dropping their pretty buds and turning greener and greener. The sun burned hot and red in the sky; hardly disturbed by a single wispy cloud. The air rushed through the world like water through a river, sweeping away hats and rumpling girls' hair and dresses.

Yao stood in the backyard, looking out into the field that only a few days ago he had let the sparrow free. He held his hands behind his back, clasped, as old men do when waiting patiently. A light breeze whisked his hair away from his face, causing it to glide behind him like silky black ribbons. On a wooden chair, beside him, Ivan sat. Holding a beige guitar in hand, he stared at Yao, lost in thought.

Birds tittered and Yao smiled at them, casting a glance at Ivan. He recalled dimly the suggestions made to him by Sveta and Lena; telling him to ask Ivan to strum a few notes. "Ivan," he asked slowly. Conversations between the two had become furthermore stagnant and scarce; cold even. "Ivan, why don't you play me a song? I would like to hear one."

Taking up his guitar and resting his hand across it, Ivan allowed a grin to curl his lips. "Certainly," he said. He plucked at several strings with his red-tipped, thick fingers, testing out the cords. Then, clearing his throat, he began a nice, easy melody and began to sing. He stared straight ahead and his lips barely shifted; vibrating at his lilting words. It was a song that contained the entire meaning of life and its struggles. Ivan tilted his head slightly, hunching his shoulder. His voice was not perfectly tuned and nor was it in any way trained to perfection. It was rasping on several notes and often too harsh. But it was a voice that one could only comment on when its final notes had died in the air. While he sang one was completely engrossed and unable to pull away; desiring furiously to hear more of it. Yao felt that same way, closing his eyes to further his experience.

When Ivan stopped singing and the last note hung in the air, like a ripe apple ready to fall from its tree, he stood up and held the guitar by the neck, keeping it by his side.

"That was wonderful, Ivan," Yao said.

"Thank you," Ivan said, bowing his head.

"I regret not having asked you sooner."

To this Ivan did not respond. He set the guitar on the chair and looked around the open field. Far, in the distance, a young girl danced around an older woman. Her shrill voice rang out though he words were unintelligible. Her two brown braids flopped around her back and she held her tanned arms out.

"I've been meaning to ask, and I don't mean to be rude, but…" Yao looked at Ivan. Ivan made no objection. "But I was wondering when your sisters would be leaving? I'll surely miss them when they do leave."

"They leave at the start of August. Natalia is going to Paris for her studies and I assume Katrina will find a job in a rural area. She loathes big cities and tries her best to avoid them." Ivan answered. Yao nodded slowly, taking the information in. "Now," Ivan continued; "I have a question for you."

Yao glanced at him curiously.

"What do you think of love?"

Yao pondered this and involuntarily took a step away from Ivan. "I think love is a childish thing for young people who have high expectations of life." He muttered wrathfully.

"So, is that it?" Ivan approached him, "I digress. I think love is a passionate feeling between two people; be it familiars such as friends or family—or be it a lover. Or perhaps it is towards a strange, beautiful exotic bird." He reached over and plucked up Yao's hand, holding the slender fingers between his own. He bent down and placed a kiss on Yao's knuckles, causing the afflicted skin to crimson.

Yao stared, parting his lips but unable to utter a sound.

"You know already that I love you. You know that on the day I married the doomed Ira I received a letter from the military. They have asked me to return to combat on August 12th. A peculiar date, granted, but if that is what they wish I cannot refuse."

Yao retracted his hand and let it fall limp to his side. His nose became pink and his eyes glowered at Ivan. "Well, why didn't you tell me?"

"I did tell you, just now."

"But why didn't you tell me then!" Yao said, and, despite himself, burst into tears. They rolled down his cheeks glistening in the sunlight.

"I would have admitted it right before my sisters. I don't want them to know. They might already have an idea. So I don't want to give them the pleasure of being right. Also, it was quite amusing keeping it from you."

"You gather amusement from other people's pain?"

"Yes. It's a sick and diabolic tendency. I cannot help it. I'm addicted to pain like that—be it to myself or to another. Oh, if only I could resist."

Yao inched closer to him. "In a way it makes you more interesting, I suppose."

"I suspect you aren't a pure white dove either."

"Not at all," Yao said, his heart thudding in his chest, leaping out into his throat.

"No one is. No, I believe that not a single person walking this planet now, in the past, or in the future is a pure being. No entity can be unscathed and completely clean of all the dirtiness of the world." He held out his hand again and Yao took it, wiping his cheeks with the other hand. The news of Ivan's leave now subsided in his mind. Perhaps its due date was far too distant for him to quite grasp the full extent of it. Or perhaps he, too, had an infatuation with pain.

"Do you think Natalia will like Paris?" Yao said, not knowing why but conscience of Ivan's body so close.

"She will. I'm sure of it."

Ivan raised Yao's hand again to his lips and gently kissed halfway down his arm. Shivers sprung up at each faint touch of his hot lips and rocketed through Yao's body. His cheeks flushed madly.

"Do you love me?" Yao asked. Ivan stopped his kisses, now hovering above Yao's shoulder. The skin itched and burned for the touch of those lips.

"I've loved you for a long time, now. Not how I loved Ira, mark you. I love you viscously. I love you because of your fierce personality, of your words, of how you carry yourself and of how intently you can focus. Your intellect…" Ivan pressed a kiss to Yao's shoulder and then went up his necks; slowly, marking each kiss now prominently.

Yao gasped, his breath quivering in his throat. "Is that so… Oh but you hardly know me! Only now can I express my intentions clearly…" he mumbled, feeling Ivan's lips so close to his. Ivan's nose tickled his cheeks. He shut his eyes, his eyelashes fanning out and clashing against his cheeks. "Why do you torture me so?" he expression seemed to say.

And Ivan's expression said; "because I love it." He pulled away slightly and Yao stopped him, pressing his palm against Ivan's faintly whiskered cheek.

"Ivan…" He muttered. "Isn't it wrong of you to love after marriage?"

"It was only a family marriage. Nothing bound by the court or the church, Yao." Ivan muttered back, holding up his hand and showing that he had not even a ring. "_Je vous aime, _Yao. Oh! I can't stand it anymore. Why did I have to hold myself back! Our time is so finite now. In a matter of days I'll be sent back and unable to touch you. I'll send you to Sveta and Lena. I'll write whenever I can. If I die I die for the country and for you!"

He swooped down and pressed his lips to Yao's; their lips clashing and their teeth smothered by the underside of them. Yao wrapped his arms around Ivan's broad shoulders and tilted his head. Tears freely poured down his cheeks and the wind buffeted again, tossing his hair and causing his tears to glide at an angle. Ivan kissed as though he would never see Yao again, wrapping his arms around the thin waist. If only he knew that this would be only half the passion of a kiss soon to come. He pulled away, his cheeks red.

"Why are you crying, Yao?" he said, brushing away at the tears.

Yao smiled faintly and pressed his head into Ivan's chest, burying his tears and wetting Ivan's shirt. "I don't know. I don't know…" he repeated.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry…" Ivan repeated at the same time.

And he did exactly what his premonition told him not to: he got too close to love.


	11. The Empyrean

Overhead the sky dipped down almost ready to touch the earth; pregnant with darkness. Stars gleamed in the sky, scattered, as though strewn across. Below them, fathoms and fathoms below, the grass rustled in the warm wind. Silence balanced delicately, hanging in the air as though upon a need-tip. Yet it was comforting and peaceful between the two lovers below, on their backs and staring up. Yao looked to his side where he met Ivan's eyes gleaming in the darkness. He smiled and kissed Ivan's forehead. He raised his arm, so he reached the other side of Ivan's head. They rested as such, their feet were in opposite directions and one appeared upside down to the other.

Yao wore one of his finest, reddest silks that splayed around him, fanning out and from up above down it looked like a drop of blood. Ivan wore simply clothing and dimmed in comparison. However, he didn't mind. He enjoyed Yao's beauty and wanted to preserve it in its glory, not taking away from it. They fell asleep, without uttering a word but enjoying the other's presence, listening to the wind and the soft breaths.

The month trickled by slowly and sweetly. Yao made an effort to enjoy every bit of it; to squeeze out every drop of enjoyment he could. Things would be changing very soon.

Ivan and Yao furthered their relationship, but refrained from anything more intimate than kisses. Ivan played his guitar several more times. They visited the neighbors a handful of times and managed to see the baby that was born of one of them. He was a healthy, red, weepy infant but a baby—pure and innocent—nonetheless.

As with all warm summers, this one too had to draw to an end. Katrina wept as she prepared her baggage, hugging Yao and Ivan, promising to visit one day. She stared at Yao happily, knowing full well that her wish had come true and that her brother had discovered his delicate swan with a milky-white neck and coal-black eyes. That was how she described it and she could not be shaken in her stance. She kissed Yao's cheek and Ivan's cheek, too, bidding them good-bye.

Natalia had tears brimmed her eyes and did not lift her gaze from the floor. Paris awaited her along with many hours of travel still. When she looked up finally, as her sister begged so they would not miss their cab back to Moscow, she began to cry. Her throat convulsed and made strange, high-pitched hiccupping sounds. She brought her shoulders up and covered her face shamefully, frightened by her own tears. The slid down, like glistening gems, and fell onto her shirt front. A coat was strung over one of her bony arms and shivered with her sobs. Ivan approached her and enveloped her in his arms, kissing the top of her head.

"Oh!" she cried out and pulled away, wiping her eyes and frowning deeply; "oh how horrible it is to cry!"

"Whatever made you do so, Natasha?" Katrina said, using Natalia's nickname. Her own voice trembled with foreboding sobs.

"I know I'll see none of you again," she said in a ghostly whisper, "Not you nor my sister nor Yao…"

"What do you mean? Surely you'll come back from Paris once you finish your studies," Yao argued.

"Well once I finish going abroad and hopefully completing my life's dream then I will return to Russia. But you all," she looked at all three of them before her, her shoulders dropping and her head tilting to the side, letting her silver hair fall into her face. "Ivan I know you have been called back to you regiment as the war burns on. I know they need a good commander and only you can supply that all. But you will die, I know it. Katrina I might see you again but by then we'll be so different and Yao—what I mean to say is that even if I do see you all again you won't be you anymore. You would have changed. Time both heals and damages. When I come back why Ivan you could have grown a beard, Katrina you could have children, Yao you could have gone back home! You won't be the same people. You'll have the same identity and the same bodies but you'll not have the same mind set as now. When I see you then I'll see ghosts of the past and I'll never be able to let that go, simply because so much time has elapsed since then. Ivan I saw you several months when you came home on leave. I could accommodate to you, though I treated you like a stranger, but that is only because your face still stood strong in my memory!" A fresh wave of tears poured down her cheeks and a strange peal of quivering laughter escaped her. Her lips remained parted once the strained and strangled sound died away. She slowly shut her mouth and looked away, further ashamed by her actions and her words.

"Perhaps we'll change for the better," Yao ventured, "Maybe when you come back you'll find us wiser and more likable. You'll find that our faults of the present had been effaced by experience. You'll find that all you found dislikable, at least most of it, will be gone or altered to some new form that suits you!"

"And don't forget, my dear sister," Katrina said soothingly, "You'll also change. For you it won't be noticeable. It'll come so gradually. It's how you see your siblings are changing but it's so slow and well-paced that you can hardly notice, unless you think back to some distant point in time. Natalia, you're young and still a docile, petite little creature that has yet to see the world. You are mature and wise as it is but you're hardly eighteen! Imagine what life has left to offer! Please don't weep, not yet. Until, and if, you see a letter with words declaring your brother's death you mustn't worry about him again. Make that promise to me! Because when I see you cry it hurts me so! Imagine how mother would have scolded you!"

Natalia agreed to the promise and hugged her brother and Yao, bidding them a muffled good bye and then leaving. They shut the door. And, just as how the final instrument cries out its last note and the orchestra comes to an end, a quiet and stillness engulfed the room. Yao felt the pressure of it and went into the study, shaken by Natalia's tears and words. He never expected her to be so emotional. In fact, he expected her to wave good-bye and not even near her lips to anyone's skin.

The next few days leading up to Ivan's deployment, the two packed up the house and locked the gates, gathering their belongings. Ivan planned to take Yao to his apartment, rightfully his, back in Moscow.

"What will I do there?" Yao asked, eating strawberries outside. His valises leaned against the wall inside, ready to be taken come that night. Autumn crept up on the country, turning the edges of leaves yellow and red and purple.

"Since everything has been cleared up back at home, you'll be going there."

"What?" Yao rounded on him, and not for the shock of the news.

It is said that when a child departs from her homeland and enters a new one, she picks up this new language and forgets her old one. This, Yao feared, must have happened to him. He brought up words and phrases from Mandarin. Painfully he recalled having forgotten to write back to Xiang. How he must have grown! But after a few words and phrases slithering through his mind, other soon tumbled afterwards and flooded his brain, reassuring him of their presence.

"You'll be in Moscow until October and then some travelers will arrive to pick you up and bring you home." Ivan said, turning cold and stoic.

Yao edged towards him, tears springing up in his eyes. "Why? Do you plan to leave me there forever? What do you plan to do when you come back home, live alone?" Yao cried, his voice rising in pitch.

"Don't shriek, it's improper," Ivan chastised, "And I told you the pains that are soon to come harbor the most grief. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…" his expression changed and he pulled Yao to his breast, holding him tight and pressing kisses to his head and face. "This will be the last time I'll see you. I'm sorry for springing all this on you without prior warning. My reasons for doing that were completely selfish. I wanted to save myself the sorrow and pain and I only brought more!"

Yao buried his head in Ivan's shirt front but did not cry.

Slowly, timidly, he said; "You aren't coming home, are you? At least, you don't think you are."

"No. I'm dying out in the battlefield, I know it."

Yao pulled back and reached up to kiss Ivan. Ivan kissed back limply.

Later that day, when Ivan hoisted Yao and his luggage into the cab, he kissed those pale lips and gazed deeply into Yao's eyes. Yao, seized by passion, leaped out from the cabby and, wrapping his arms around Ivan, thrust kisses upon kisses across Ivan's face and lips. Tears fled freely from his eyes and they moistened Ivan's face. Ivan kissed back and held him tightly. They remained so for a while yet, until the cabby turned impatiently at them and Yao climbed back aboard, apologizing. The cabby's nose was red and he seemed to be on the verge of tears himself.

"I love you more than anything, Ivan Braginsky!" Yao called, crying out and piercing the evening. The cabby had started moving and he strained his leg to look back at Ivan. His neck and head bobbed with the horses' even trot.

"I love you more than anything, Yao Wang! Let the sky be ripped from the earth and death approach me and I will never relinquish my love for you!"

"Promise, if you live, that you will always love me so!"

"I already promised myself a thousand times over!" Ivan now had to lightly jog to keep up. The cabby, bound by a schedule, tried his best to slow the horses enough for the event to unfurl.

"If not in life we'll meet in death!" Was the last thing Yao called out that Ivan could hear. The last thing Yao saw of Ivan were his luminescent eyes piercing the darkness and his hand pressed to his heart.

Yao turned away, burying himself in his seat, and sobbed softly. The cabby built up speed and the horses now galloped on towards Moscow, their brown and black hides glistening in the paling light. Yao shut his eyes and fell asleep.

He dreamed of the heavenly sky. Lying beside him was Ivan. They were younger, ten or twelve years old, before they ever met. Yao curled himself into Ivan's chest, his eyes still looking up at the sky. They were in an indefinite place—a plain outside of time and space and nonexistent in reality. There was nothing on this plain but that stretch of grass and the sky above them. The blue of the heavens was visible in bright strips between wispy, cotton-like clouds that slowly shifted and merged into one another. Sunlight pierced through each one, like swords stabbing through. The light lit up the darkness in Yao's heart and he felt at ease, absolutely at home in Ivan's arms and recalling fondly the short time they spent acknowledging the other's love. In his sleep, Yao smiled, shaded by the night's darkness.

* * *

_To be honest, for a moment, I considered ending the story here. Then I remembered that I still had some plot points I wanted to play out and some scenes that I'm itching to write. So, it's not the end. At least, not of the story. I had a lot of fun writing this particular chapter and I hoped you all enjoyed reading it!_

_Thanks again for the reviews! Please keep 'em coming. _


	12. Unreal Expectations

Aleksey Nikolayevich stood amid the crowd of soldiers. His regiment shifted uneasily around him, excited to see the new colonel. They were fresh faces. Young men had come from all across the country, from where the frigid land of Siberia begins and the thick city of Moscow ends. They had not yet seen war and now their chance to experience honor and don their armor to show off to their friends back home had arrived. In this time, when war leaders were of divine status and a musket was one's greatest friend war was the apex of young men's lives. So now, with disputes rippling through Europe there was glory to be brought.

The colonel came forth, his black horse's coat gleaming and his main tossing. The colonel looked at them all evenly, calculating their personas with a single glance. His silvery hair caught autumn sunlight and reflected it back fiercely. His eyes were mirror-like and vague and his lips were drawn taut. His uniform was white and expertly made. Ribbons decorated it, along with a multitude of badges.

Aleksey, or Alyosha as his friends called him, felt his heart leap up into his throat. All at once great pride swelled in his chest. If this colonel asked him to leap into the sea or into flames and sacrifice his life for him he would do so without objection. This man overpowered them and oh—oh how he spoke! He spoke with such grace and acuteness that all the soldiers, not solely Alyosha, felt their knees turn to water and their chins rise.

"I am Ivan Braginsky. I have returned to lead you men into war. I hope you do not disappoint me," he said curtly and turned off, discussing some important matters with a general and a lieutenant. They told him that this regiment was very able and would apply themselves fully to his orders. They all had come by choice and were willing to prove worthy of his respect. Ivan did not smile but only took these descriptions in with faint nodding of his head. In time he would accommodate back to being in the warzone with horses' muscles flexing between his legs. The buzz of fighting would surround him and smoke would cloud their vision. It excited but also sobered him. Yao was still in Moscow and, by the sun's descent he would have been off to go back home. Little to his knowledge, Yao would not follow the same, strict path that Ivan had in mind.

During this time, when Yao sat in his Moscow apartment, it came to mind that life was terribly short and that one could not go through it without at least one adventure. He planned, then, with a smile starting to emerge, to go on the ordered cabby as far as Vienna, Austria. From there he would catch rides and caravans and vagabonds until he reached his home atop misty mountains in his homeland. Adventurous spirit bubbled up within him and suddenly there was no other path he could take.

Yao stood up, causing the curtains to stir, and turned and rushed towards a desk sitting in the corner of the room. He pulled open a drawer and discovered a leaf of paper still fresh and untouched. He composed a letter to Ivan in his curved, delicate hand-writing.

_Ivan,_

_As a set out to go home I write you this letter._

He paused, staring at the paper and unsure as what to say next. He decided then to describe his plans and give a long paragraph describing his deathless love for Ivan. He wished Ivan the best of luck in the war and hoped that Ivan would not miss him too painfully. Yao penned this because he was thoroughly convinced that Ivan would be returning home.

_With much love, again _[Yao continued writing] _I bid you farewell. If our lives are to cross then I will be filled with endless, beautiful happiness! But if we do not and you find another lover then you have my full permission to seek out a hand in marriage. You are no longer young enough to live the easy life of a bachelor. You ought to settle down. And yes, it pains me to write this for I want to be that hand, I want to live with you my entire life; but alas we are ripped apart by cruel fate as it tore Achilles' life from him those centuries ago! _

_My entire love to you,_

_Yao_

Satisfied, Yao folded the letter and tucked it away in an envelope. He sought Lena and asked her for Ivan's current address. She beamed and snatched up his letter, prying it out and reading through it. Yao's face reddened. "You can't take my privacy away from me!" he cried.

"Oh," she said, lowering the letter and lowering her eyes. "I apologize. I thought you wanted me to read through your writing for mistakes… And what I found was, written with excellent grammar, the most absurd and stupidest thing!" Her last words lashed out and she waved the paper before him. "Forgive me, master, but you must understand that this is a terrible decision! Do you truly wish to go through these war-torn countries just to fulfill your own selfish need of adventure? How asinine! How ridiculous! Have you no pity for Ivan? He will surely drop dead of fear and worry once he lays eyes on this!"

Yao backed away, rebellious and quarrelsome as it was with his youth. He began to argue but Sveta, like a mother swooping in to be an arbitrary between two bickering children, glowered at him.

"What is this, I hear?" she said coldly. "What's this 'stupid' thing?"

"I—!" Yao began in protest. However Sveta took up the letter and read through it, a wooden spoon clutched firmly in her hand. She shook sighed and smacked Yao across the shoulder lightly.

Yao started but felt no pain—physical, that is. He felt a great deal of torture mentally.

"No," Sveta said. "You young people are all alike. You think what you are about to do is the only possible choice. You act on a single impulse that was really only in passing. Tell me, how adventurous do you feel presently?"

"N-none at all," Yao stammered, accenting the wrong words.

"My advice to you—and if only I could tell this too all the young folk out there!—is that when you have a sudden, strong desire to do something that you wait for a moment. Keeping waiting if the urge weakens and then it will fall away and you will forget it ever existed. But what am I to know? I'm only an unintelligent maid."

Yao looked down.

"I advise you to do so now. Rewrite this letter with a clearer mind. If you aren't concerned for yourself be at least somewhat concerned for Ivan. He may appear strong but his heart only grows weaker the more it's used." She turned away. Though her words weren't said sharply in any way they still cut through Yao likes blades.

Lowering his head he took the letter back and settled back down at the desk. He stared at the paper, unable to formulate enough words to place on it.

This same problem occurred with Alyosha back at camp. They were bivouacking in a clear expanse of land just outside a forest. The grass still had yet to dry up and yellow. The sky now was heavy with afternoon sun and sparse clouds. He run his small hands through his curly brown hair and then scratched his snub nose. He wanted to write to his mother but could not find enough information to supply her. Sighing, he folded up the paper and placed it back in the foot locker. His mind drifted back to the new colonel. Braginsky seemed a most interesting fellow. He longed to be at his side and help. Longing for those mysterious eyes to look upon him, he ventured outside of the tent. Various soldiers moved around. Some checked supplies and did actual business. Others played cards and drank. They noisily moved in groups from tent to tent, collecting more players and hopefully more money.

Food supplies, for the time being, were plentiful and almost superfluous. The war had only blossomed, but threatened to turn dark and sour at any moment. The men were enjoying their peace for as long as they could. In a larger, fancier tent further back Ivan stood speaking with people of varying importance. He exited, having asked permission to survey their surroundings, and looked around. For a flickering moment his eyes landed on Alyosha. The young man tensed up at once, trying to prove himself a man.

Ivan's gaze slipped away. He had regarded Alyosha like one would regard a rug or brick wall. He turned away and, clambering up his horse, road into the nearby village.

Bobbing slightly with the horse's pace, he spotted the rooftops come into sight. He stopped at an inn and, tying his horse up, entered it out of curiosity. Partially he wished to leave the scene because of boredom but mostly he wanted to know how rich these people were and what kind of loss they would suffer if war surged through the land.

Once inside Ivan was greeted with smells of cooking and polish. He walked in, keeping his hand at his saber and puffing his chest out, letting the badges gleam. Working in the front was a pudgy young woman. She looked up at him and smiled, showing that she lacked three teeth. Ivan approached her stiffly.

Whenever he was at war, and this fact remained hidden from him, his entire personality changed. It froze up and became brooding; serious and morose. He rarely smiled in these conditions and expected everyone to obey his every command without objection. Therefore whenever someone did not obey he flew into a rage and chastised them harshly.

Laughter burst out from another room and Ivan looked over, wandering there. The woman watched after him curiously and sighed faintly.

From another room the girls' mother, withered and old, approached her. "Why did you sigh, you silly girl?"

"It's another one of 'em soldiers. The leak in and think they own the place." She replied and her mother cast her a bitter glance but said no more.

In the other room a crowd of people were playing cards. Clouds of smoke from burning cigars fogged up the room. When Ivan entered one of the head's popped up. It was a gypsy woman. Her brown curls reached her waist and her dress, black and decorated with gold jingled around her. "Come in, sir!" she cried with a heavy accent, "Come in and play with us!"

Ivan, feeling as though he had nothing better to do, sat between two of the people. The two he sat by were both soldiers. One was a Prussia general with snow-white hair and the pale, spotted skin from his albinism. He grinned and greeted Ivan in German. Ivan replied back in that same language, though he spoke it poorly.

On his other side was an Austrian soldier. He appeared refined. He did not smoke and did not appear to be playing, but rather watching. His dark eyes swept the scene and he occasionally clicked his tongue. His hair was brown and combed meticulously. A mole was just below his lip and to the side. His nose and face was long and well tempered. He did not seem to realize Ivan had entered.

Ivan reached over and picked up a hand of cards, looking at the game and playing in silence.

"Ah you're a soldier from the regiment stationed here?" one voice said. Ivan looked towards the source. It was a Polish man with a soft and pretty face, rich blonde hair, and a sly, but smart smile.

"Yes," Ivan said.

"Capital!" The Pole said, in English.

The others there were some villagers, fat or burly, one skinny as a twig, and all bearded. Ivan only placed one note on the table and lost it. He knew he was quite horrible at card games.

The one who collected the most money at one point was the Prussian; Gilbert. The Austrian man regarded him coldly with little contempt. He did not speak during the entire duration of Ivan's stay.

Then, Gilbert lost all of his money and more to Feliks, the Pole. Through the conversations that were exchanged it became clear that the Pole, once a soldier, had declared himself a temporary vagabond and had, pushed by a tide of war, ended up in that village. He was thin from nights without dinner but his happiness did not falter.

A half of Feliks' wins were handed over to the gypsy. The gypsy was named Elizaveta and she was Hungarian, loud, and the most admirable of the crowd. She held herself boldly. Had she worn a soldier's uniform Ivan would have mistaken her for a brazen warrior. And that she was, but a temporary gypsy just as the Pole was a temporary vagabond. Her story was more muddled and unclear.

Eventually, when Ivan had gained a few notes back, he stood and bowed to them all, leaving curtly. He rode back home just as the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Once he left, just as most companies do, the crowd began to discuss him. They knew he was a Russian soldier and lofty; but details they could not recall, make out, or care for. The villagers grudgingly left for home, leaving the Austrian, Prussian, Pole, and Hungarian.

Gilbert bowed his head, his lips curled to show his teeth. His jaw slackened. He looked pleadingly at Feliks, where all his money had ended up. Clearing his throat and, regaining his strength, with one last sorrowful look at the money, he pulled on his jacket and cap.

"I guess I'll have to bid you all good-bye for now," he said. Elizaveta translated for Feliks. "If we meet again, then until then! Godspeed, my friends, there's a war to fight!" he laughed and went to the young lady at the front, paid her for the drinks, and left.

The Austrian did not move, not even when the Hungarian woman and Feliks had left. He remained in that room, blinking away the film of cigar smoke that hung in the air. The sharp smell of drink still haunted his nostrils. Then, he lowered his shoulders and sighed, pulling spectacles from his pocket and putting them on. He had an uneasy feeling from that crowd, though he did not know why. He stood and collected his own things, touching the door handle and left.

That night no one slept well.

Yao tossed and turned in the cabby, swaddled in cloths and holding a bag between his legs. Sharing the cabby, all heading towards Vienna, was a family. A mustached man and his wife conversed in rhythmic German. The woman held an infant to her breast that mumbled and groaned occasionally.

Ivan lay on his bunk, his hands clasped across his chest. The soft snores of the others sounded around him. Everyone else seemed to have slept peacefully. His mind went back to the company he met and, just as uneasiness washed over the Austrian, discomfort washed over him. But he did not know why.

Alyosha, an insignificant digit among a number of soldiers, also found it difficult to fall asleep. Wanting to appease so many people, he thought up a thousand and one ways to do so; all more ridiculous than the one before. He scratched at his neck and shifted, looking over to his comrades in battle. The excitement rose up in them; proud to die.

So proud to die.


	13. Natalia and the Man with the Red Ribbon

Natalia, upon having lived in Paris for some time, became a subject of much discussion. All spoke of the fair maiden with the long face of such striking intelligence. No at-homes passed without at least a few points made as to the young lady from Russia. Many watched her as she walked by, going to her school with her chin held high as to avoid conversation. She usually wore her hair plaited up and cleared from her face. She never wore rouge or smiled. Her dressed were violet and other dark colors, with shawls draped around her shoulders in winter and her sleeves short in summer; exposing thin, milk-white arms.

Her beauty however was not the main subject of thought, though it was looked over. What struck people most was her intellect. She spoke quickly and acutely, as though in a great hurry; and even then her replies were witty and accurate. Sometimes she was invited to parties. When she came the men invited her into philosophical and political debates. She always had a reply and her eyes flashed whenever arguments were tossed at her. She then pulled her lips into a ghost of a smile and reprimanded them; telling them what she believed to be the truth.

The women watched her in envy, wondering how she was treated as an equal and they were not.

There was one thing however that Natalia had a flaw in. Her French pronunciation was atrocious. She always enunciated the "t"s at the end of sentences and rolled her Rs. The listeners tried not to wince, because her grammar was correct and her vocabulary was expansive.

One day, when Natalia had no classes to attend to and was forced to wander from her place of stay; she ended up before Notre Dame. She examined the great columns and the statues. It was a chilled autumn day and her shawl was strung around her shoulders. The delicate lace crossed in various patterns, as a rose along the right side. Tassels hung at the ends and cast shadows down at her dress. Her hands were gloved in white silk.

Couples and groups walked by her, chatting and laughing occasionally. Pigeons, grays and whites, surged up into the air when someone approached them. Then they settled back down, cooing occasionally. Natalia quite enjoyed it and left the great building. One shadowed building attracted her attention. She approached it and pushed the door open. Inside the smells of liquor, perfume, and smoke greeted her. She squinted and pushed in, clutching her bag to her breast. Inside a dim room, groups of men and women of the middle class were circling around an empty wooden floor. Natalia edged closer, hidden behind two mustached men engrossed in a conversation about the Emperor.

She watched as a group of suited musicians set up their equipment, off to the side of the crowd, and tuned their violins, violas, cellos, and whatnot. The sounds of tuning escaped them, stifled by the volume of the crowd. Once satisfied the musicians poised their bows at the strings and strung a strong note. The chatter silenced at once and everyone turned their gaze to the empty space.

The black curtains Natalia had not noticed prior rustled and then spread open, pouring out a stream of young girls in dresses. Their dresses of mostly dark colors gleamed in the few rays of light while the girls tapped and hopped their way around. They smiled broadly at the crowd, pretty eyes batting at the folks around. The music began slow, almost subtle. And then, once the girls paused, holding their hands out to the right creating a circle, the music flourished. The violins flared up and the girls danced with explosive energy, kicking their legs out and causing their skirts to fly upwards. They danced merrily and with such passion that Natalia found herself clapping along with the others and tapping her foot.

They danced as such for a while yet. At the end of the first song, Natalia took her leave and exited the building. Her ears rung with the echoes of music now cut off by the quieter streets. Natalia continued her walk, her smile smoothing away as she stared forwards. She became conscious of various stares pinned onto her and the whispers that followed. She had trained herself to ignore them and so they became nothing but background mumbles.

Beautiful and handsome women passed her. Many had their dark, curly hair pulled back tightly. Others kept their hair loose or artificially curled. A group of young girls, hardly older than fifteen, gathered together before a shop and stared longingly at the young men passing by. Natalia ended up at a street and turned around, her dress twirling around her. The clip-clop of horse-drawn carriages rumbled behind her. She glanced up to the sky. The clouds were scarce but they edged closer together. She sensed rain would fall soon enough and turned back towards the street and crossed it stiffly.

She sat down in a café some time later and ordered herself a meal. While sitting there, alone, she was struck by a sudden pang of loneliness. All the other patrons were with families, friends, groups, or lovers. No one sat alone like her. No one seemed to be sitting like her, near a window and accompanied only by a wilting flower before her. She touched its petals dolefully and sighed. She felt homesick and wondered how Yao and Ivan and her sister were faring.

Following a meal, the rain began to fall, as she had anticipated. She found herself caught in the storm, standing beneath a canopy over a fruit vendor. The vendor paid no mind to her and looked around for actual business. Occasionally some strangers came by, giggling and looking at the fruit before popping their umbrellas open and rushing away. Natalia was not entirely soaked, but her hair had turned a darker color and stuck to her cheeks. Of all the people in Paris, she had forgotten an umbrella. Unless she wanted to risk being drenched in the downpour, she was forced to wait it out.

The rain fell in plump, silver drops. They plummeted to the ground and shattered, splattering the ground and darkening where it touched. It smelled heavenly; metallic and yet so clean. The gutters flowed, carrying leaves and pieces of parchment. Once it carried a flowered hat. Natalia dared to take a dash and picked it up, before returning to her shelter and seeking an owner. Eventually a woman, elderly and withered, discovered her hat and thanked Natalia for it. Natalia smiled her sterling smile and then the woman was off just as quickly as she had come.

There was a reason for Natalia's rare smiles. When she did smile, it was true and honest. She loathed false pretences, especially forced grins.

Unfortunately, the rain only thickened and now fell in a thick sheet. Most of the people had escaped to their homes, causing the streets to be clear and silent save for the pitter-patter of rain. Even the fruit vendor packed up and went home, leaving Natalia to sit down on a dry bench and wait. She held her bag even tighter.

A stranger approached about the time Natalia began to doze off. He wore a clean, white suit with a purple-rimmed flower pinned to his lapel. He had an umbrella that streaked rain down like pulsing veins. It covered his face. He entered the canopy and stood below it. Lowering the umbrella, he revealed his face, shaking the water off of it. He had a broad, handsome face lined with the beginnings of a beard. His eyes were pale and luminous, his lips well-formed, and his nose long and smooth.

Natalia watched him, her lips pressed tightly together. He turned and looked at her. He wore his flaxen hair tied up in a red ribbon.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," Natalia replied stiffly.

"What a beautiful rain storm," he commented closing the umbrella and leaning against it like a cane briefly. He then decided against it and sat down by Natalia, a few inches away from her. She brought the bag closer to her belly and stared ahead.

"You seem to like the rain." Natalia observed.

"I do. I wanted to take a walk in it. Then I saw this lonely young lady and I decided to bring her some company. I have nothing better to do."

"I see."

"You have a strange accent. Are you from Russia by chance?"

"Yes I am."

"Ah…" he trailed off into silence. The quiet between them was soothing and comforting. The man had that strange quality to him, almost as though the very air around him ceases to be corrupt and, even for a moment, turns to love and joy. "Oh, I forgot, my name is Francis Bonnefoy." He turned and raised his hand. Natalia shook it firmly, indicating that she did not want her hand kissed.

"I'm Natalia."

Francis leaned back on the bench.

"Where are you from?" Natalia asked.

"That's the wrong question, dear. What you must ask is where I am going to—because that is the real question. And your answer is Paris, but I grew up in Leon."

"How is it not a real question?" Natalia asked and her eyebrows elevated.

"It is only a question when the answer is unknown."

"But the answer was unknown to me."

"Perhaps so, but in a grander scheme the question as where I am going to next is unknown to both you and I."

"That's a curious way of thinking, Monsieur Bonnefoy."

"Mademoiselle Natalia, I do not claim to be a philosopher but rather a thinker. Of course my ways are curious, everything is curious to me."

Natalia paused, parting her small lips. "Do you often come up to strangers and speak of such things?" She asked, at length.

Francis shrugged. "No, I rarely do. It's a pleasure and so I want to have it scarcely. That way, when it does happen, I am reminded to cherish the precious moments."

"Monsieur, by chance… Are you a soldier?"

"Yes." He cast an amused glance at her. "How could you tell?"

"You speak like my brother. He's a solider as well. And also, you look at the sky in the same way. Once, my brother told me this, he was injured in both legs and was unable to walk. He lay on his back and was greeted with the sky. He stared at it, certain that it was reaching down to grab him and carry him, swaddled in great clouds, to death. Those were his words exactly."

"Charming! The same thing happened to me; except I was injured in the hip and was caught under my dead horse. I then looked towards the sky. It was snowing then. Every flake fell slowly and all around me. In that moment I was suspended in time, away from it all and just watching the ice fall around me as though I was in a tunnel." He spoke with an air of melancholy.

The rain began to clear up. Nothing but a faint mist remained and Francis stood, his red ribbon flickering. He left without another word, as was the French way or so they say. Natalia stood as well and went to the edge of the canopy's protection. When the rain finally halted, she scurried back home. She needed to study and then to read. She was seized by the unmovable desire to pick up a volume and sink into it, as one is at times after healthy conversation.

Night fell on the city of Paris. Church bells tolled. Carriages clattered across the streets, carrying people off to balls and to dinner parties. Meanwhile Natalia stayed at home, lying on her bed in a nightgown and stockings that stretched up to her knees. Her hair, loose and free, had a bow in it, along the top. She wore it for comforting purposes. When she was little her mother would tie it on her head and then it was Katrina who put it on. It brought back gentle, warm feelings of childhood and the sweet, syrupy nostalgia along with it.

She slowly let her eye lids fall. Sleep crept slowly along her, urged by the gentle sounds from outdoors. Her nose itched and her cheeks were rosy from being outside for so long in the cold. She was determined not to catch the grippe and decided to drink tea and a large bowl of soup. She dug herself into the bedspread and curled up, bringing her knees almost to her chest and leaning into the pillows.

In her dreams she imagined endless fields of bright yellow flowers. She rushed through them, her hands spread out and her head tilted upwards. Her arms tickled and stretched, becoming a milkier color. Long tendrils erupted from her skin and became feathers. Her neck lengthened and thinned out, ending in a yellow beak framed in black. Her dress rose and twisted itself into the body of a swan, followed by a tail. Her legs, too, became that of a swan. She, in a painless and glowing motion became a slender-necked swan that soared through the air, free and fearless. Somewhere in the distance another swan soared and below it, unmistakably, was her brother holding his hands out, setting it free.

The dream continued to be surreal. Ballerinas in flowing white dresses leaped up, legs spread out. In a quicker transformation they, too, became swans and spread their wings out, flying. More and more came up until Ivan was lost from sight and Natalia led a sea of milky white birds. It no longer felt peaceful, but it did not seem chaotic either.

It felt like the beginning of war.

* * *

_An alternative title to this chapter is "Field of Swans". _


	14. The Merry Soldier

Yao was violently jerked awake. His eyes shot open and he tried to peer through the darkness settling inside the carriage. Cold hands grabbed him and jerked him out, followed shortly by a woman's scream and a baby's wail. Yao looked around, his heart racing, trying to decipher what had occurred. In a moment he was gruffly grabbed by a different set of hands and yelled it in some language. Yao tried to respond but his voice died in his throat. Someone scoffed. He was tossed into the street and into a wet puddle, thus sprayed with mud.

Once he had adjusted to the dark and the final dregs of sleep had slipped away he could see what was happening. A group of robbers, masked and cackling, were tossing the luggage from the carriage. The woman continued to bawl along with her child, clutched tightly by the man. Yao raised himself on weak hands, lifting his stained arms. Night still draped the sky. The dirt road went on for ages, empty and surrounded by fields of grass. A faint light from some lamp gleamed in the far-off. The robbers then dispersed, holding gleaming riches and one of Yao's silks. Another held Yao's valise. Yao watched in horror. The carriage that they had ridden on was now without horses, leaning down and broken in several places. Rain had recently fallen, giving the wood of the carriage a layer of water droplets. Slowly Yao, shaken, stood up. He stepped back, holding his dirtied coat to him. It was all he had left, along with a book he had somehow kept a hold of. He recalled reading through it before dropping off to sleep in the carriage.

The woman had ceased crying and pressed her infant to her breast, trying to quiet him. The baby shook and eventually was warmed by the mother's sweet touch. The husband looked on gloomily, baffled by his intense misfortune.

Yao felt pain stabbing his side. He limped down the street, up until the point when the road split into two directions. He looked out and on, a sinking feeling in his chest.

Coming up behind him, the husband tapped his shoulder. Yao turned around, his rumpled hair flying into his face.

In broken Russian, the man asked for advice.

Yao bowed his head.

"I really don't know. I'm sorry, sir." At length, he added; "Maybe we could walk to a village and ask for help there."

The man said that it would be a long way off and his wife was terribly fatigued by the fright. She then, at that moment, approached them and looked from one to the other, her eyebrows knitting together.

"Salvage what we can from the carriage and we shall walk. I can endure that much." She said, in German. The husband nodded and went timidly back to the carriage. It became quite apparent to Yao—despite not being able to understand the language—that the man was at his wife's ever beck and call. He was under a taut rope and still he enjoyed every moment of it. His wife was his life and his love. She knew that and returned the admiration.

Yao caught himself going off on the reverie and brought himself back to reality. The woman looked at him severely, her face full of gravity. She had a broad, plain face with plain eyes and smooth hair tied back. It had a quality of motherly power, however, that was worn and aged in the past few minutes. She shifted the baby in her arms and sighed, not knowing what to do anymore.

She parted her lips to speak, but was cut off by the rumbling sound of dozens of horses coming close. Yao stepped to the side and saw in the distance a group of people were riding towards them.

The man returned, holding a scarf that had fallen from the goods. He was a small, hunched over man who moved timidly and hesitantly, as though each moment decided the rest of his life.

In moments the horses reached over. Slipping off the nearest horse was the apparent leader. He approached and Yao was taken quite aback. The man was short, shorter than he, and had curled brown hair that framed his rounded face. His smile was pure and childish, somehow polite. His outfit was that of a soldier's: boots to his knees and light-colored jackets and pants. His epaulets were bright red, however.

"Hello," he said in German, and then in Russian, and then in some strange language Yao could not identify.

"Russian, please," Yao said.

"German," the woman interjected.

The man nodded and, first in German and then in Russian, introduced himself as Toris. He claimed to have been coming over for political meetings and for some masked ball that would happen later on. When he saw the ruined carriage he had to stop.

"Is it possible that you could take us to Vienna?" Yao asked. The couple agreed that they, too, needed to be in Vienna.

"Of course, we have two extra horses." Toris turned and some of his fellow men brought up the two horses. They were fat, but also quite beautiful. Yao took the white one and leaped up onto it, pressing down with his thighs since it lacked a saddle. The couple took another one for themselves. The woman held her infant all the closer, creating a sort of cradle with her scarf.

"Follow along, this shan't take long!" Toris called happily, as though he was in the prime of his life. He did not seem to be such a young fellow anymore. He seemed to be reaching his later twenties, Yao conjectured, but he was so full of life he was certain that he would be just as jolly when he was an old man.

Yao ended up directly behind Toris, watching his curls bounce with every bump in the horse's trot. Something drew him to Toris. Some sort of invisible, thin string tied their fates together.

Yao focused so much on this that he hardly realized that the sun had finally risen and spread light through the skies. He noticed even less when they reached the beautiful city of Vienna. Leaving the horses, the couple thanked Toris profusely. Toris only laughed and told them to think nothing of it, and to go on their own accord and have good luck.

Yao then began to depart but Toris stopped him, gently touching his shoulder. Yao paused, looking up expectantly at the soldier. The soldier's smile smoothed away.

"There is a masquerade coming up very soon. It will be here, in Vienna. If you'd like to come I have an extra invitation for you. It will be in two weeks' time. With such a pretty face, it'd be a shame if you didn't go."

Yao's lips twitched and, without realizing it, he found himself accepting the invitation. He felt that he would be stuck in the country for a long time yet. His homeland would have to wait a while yet. The letter was slipped away into his coat and he walked away, looking for a place to stay. He had a small pouch of money and other than that he was a homeless spirit wandering the world. If only he knew German.

Something, in that trip, caused his heart to harden. He no longer felt like a youth. No longer did he feel like a lovelorn exotic bird brought into a cold climate. He felt somehow older, somehow more mature.

Eventually Yao did find somewhere to stay; in an old, unused barn in the country side just outside of Vienna. His legs burned from walking and his nose felt cold after being out in autumn wind for so long. In the barn, he discovered, in the dimming evening light, that some soldiers had left their supplies there. He found packages of bread and ate one, leaving several coins in their place.

After that, he fell asleep on a cot, cuddled into his coat. Mud was matted onto it and he could pinch it off.

In the morning, after another small ration of bread, he wandered around the barn. Some soldiers must have raided it to sleep in, kicking out the farmers in the processes. Outside, the fields were expansive and bright. It caused him to cook up a mean mood and so he returned.

There a pan leaned against the wall, catching Yao's reflection. Each time he passed it he saw his long hair flow behind him. Each time it bothered him more and more. Eventually, with his hardened spirit, he dropped to his knees before it, a knife in hand, and raised his silky black hair to the side. He drove the knife through and cut it off. The tufts fell to the floor like the black feathers a raven sheds. Now his hair reached just below his shoulders. He tied it up with a length of rope and closed his eyes, pressing his palms to the floor.

He wanted to go home.


	15. The Masquerade

Smoke billowed around the men. Cannon balls plummeted to the ground and dug into the grass. Men leaped out of the way. The other side advanced, raising swords and screaming war cries. Blades glinted and guns were poised. The sky was overcast and gloomy, becoming obscured by smoke. Swords clashed and blood spurted out, followed by howls of pain. Several men fell off their horses.

This was the second battle since Ivan had returned and it was only two short days since the previous one. Rather than solving anything, the attacks had only worsened the situation. The village nearby, where Ivan had met the motley group of people, had been ransacked and pillaged. When his regiment entered it, trying to find survivors in the burnt debris, they only found a single, thin little girl. She looked at them in fear. Her eyes were blue and her hair dark black. Her chin was dimpled and her cheeks round; they quivered at the sight of the grim men. Ivan sent a soldier to take her to a nearby village and take care of her.

Now, Ivan gripped the reins of his strong Arab with one hand and with the other he held his sword's hilt. A musket hung onto a rope strung to his shoulders. His epaulets stuck out like drops of blood in the field. He looked at his men, calling orders and support. An enemy approached him and he raised the hilt of his sword, jabbing the man in the side and then attempting to slash at him. His hand then stopped. Terror etched across his face as he fell from his horse, his leg tangled in the bridal. "Have mercy! I surrender!" he cried out.

Ivan raised the sword above his head, making an effort to bring it down and send the man to death. But his arms seem to have frozen. The world around him silenced and dimmed. Nothing else existed but the two men, suspended in battle. The man's lips quivered and he moaned in pain, shutting his eyes in acceptance of Ivan's blade. But Ivan still did not drive it into his chest. He lowered it instead and, as he reached over to help the man up, a gunshot fired and flame exploded in his arm. He fell off his horse, hitting his back and thrusting the air out of him. Blackness swarmed over his eyes and he became unconscious.

When he woke, he discovered that he was in an infirmary. His arm was bandaged up and still throbbed with pain. The pale colored tarpaulin met his gaze. Slowly, he pushed himself up. Along the ground aligned so that their heads pointed to the edge of the tent were the dead. Ivan's heart sunk. He had caused these deaths by not being present. He convinced himself that this was fact and dolefully looked towards the nurses and doctors.

One of them noticed him and came over. He was a stout, balding man with freckles spotting his nose. "Hello, colonel," he said and took Ivan's temperature. "You're wound was not severe. It was the shock that sent you over and actually broke that same arm. What bad luck!" he spoke with a Swiss accent, something between German and French.

Ivan nodded, not taking in a word of it.

On account of injury, Ivan was thus dismissed from war. The regiment was devastated by the ill performance of such a highly-acclaimed general and at once felt deceived. Someone remarked that Ivan had recently lost his wife. How that came to be remained a mystery to Ivan. He supposed some relative of Ira's said something and it spread like wildfire, ending up in the regiment through some letter or another. Another general, however, was quickly uncovered and the regiment went as planned.

Ivan at this point believed that Yao would be somewhere in Turkey by this time. He did not know that Yao was still living in the barn, stealing from the abandoned pouches of money, and buying himself a mask and a suit for the ball that would occur in a week. On these shopping trips Yao asked in broken German that he had learned from listening patiently about the barn. Someone informed him that some soldier had left their things and went out to town. In town they were murdered by some spies and no one had touched those things since. Yao felt guilty at having raided the belongings and thanked the men in his heart whenever he could.

After being dismissed, the first course of action for Ivan was to go to Vienna. He loved the city and had not been there for two years. His arm was in a sling and wrapped tightly. It was broken in two places and burned with pain. In the carriage he went alone.

By some strange chance of fate, Ivan was invited to the same masked ball as Yao. He went through the city, each time barely brushing past Yao and not noticing him. Ivan purchased a mask and decided to wear some of his formal wear that he had brought along. He bought himself a room in an inn and there he stayed.

The night of the ball finally came. The stars overhead gleamed, twinkling down on the city. Carriages crowded around the manor where it was held at. Doors stood wide open. At the front, awaiting guests were the merry hosts. The Count and his wife shook hands and entreated the guests to enter and go to the ballroom. Servants inside swerved through the hoards of people, bringing drinks and carrying snacks. More people flooded in. Young women in pretty dresses in shawls glowed with joy upon seeing their first ball. Older women held fans in their hands and smiled proudly at the younger ones. Men huddled in groups and spoke. Some wandered around, seeking partners. All wore decorated masks that hid their identities well. The men took chances, as they could not see the pleasantness of their partner's faces. The first dance had not begun yet.

Yao entered and bowed to the Count and Countess. They greeted him accordingly and ushered him in. He wore white pants and stockings up to his knees. His shoes were dark black and especially created for dancing. His top was a swallow-tail coat of a peachy-color. His mask covered nearly his entire face, leaving only his small lips exposed. His hair was tied up tightly. He wandered around like a homeless spirit before settling in amid the groups of waiting people.

Ivan entered to the great joy of the Count and Countess. His arm was still strung up in a sling and they cooed in sympathy for him. When Ivan had greeted them, he slid on his mask. It was a dark black, bejeweled mask the covered three-fourths of his face, leaving one cheek and half of his mouth exposed. He walked around, brushing past Yao and not recognizing him.

The musicians settled in, tuning their instruments. The air quivered with excitement. The last guests had been received. The Count and Countess walked in, their hands touching, and stood in the middle of the ball, taking the first dance. Other partners took their places around them. The crowd thinned out to a group of men immersed in a philosophical discussion and Yao and Ivan. The partners poised to the dance.

When the first note struck they began to move, swaying and dancing with extraordinary talent. Ivan walked around, seeking a partner. Some broke off and sought new partners.

A handsome, tall woman approached Ivan and he took her hand, stepping onto the floor and dancing excellently.

Similarly, a woman with a bird-nose masked encountered Yao and took his hand.

The dance continued and Yao, putting his hand to his partner's waist, was tugged around by her sheer force. She laughed merrily and then let go, going off to a mustached man. Yao then turned and found a young girl waiting for a dance. Her lips curled into a smile as he took her round.

Ivan eventually ended up with the Countess. She chuckled good-humouredly. Her eyes were green and her hair, lined with gray, was a pale red. She was nearly Ivan's height and could look at his eyes through the mask. She did not speak to him save for a nod of recognition.

Some men danced alone, barely touching their partners and evidently showing off. They twirled and leaped, shutting their eyes occasionally.

Yao, stepping out of the way of one of these men, hit his back against someone. He turned around and discovered a tall, silvery-haired man. Ivan looked down at him and politely smiled, taking his hand. Yao did. Neither could tell who the other was through the masks. But when their hands touched and their steps fell into synchronization, they were consumed by an intense feeling of déjà vu. Both thought of ice skating on the frozen lake all those years ago.

The song slowed and became a rhythmic beat. Ivan gently spun Yao around and spun himself, crossing his good arm round and ending up so that Yao stood behind him, before twisting out of the stance. Ivan's dance was lopsided without the use of one hand. Yao pranced away as partners were again exchanged.

The men raised their female partners up by the waists. One man, a portly, good humored one with bad eye-sight ended up with Yao and raised him up. Ivan saw and noticed the intensely black hair. He wondered, for a second, if he had somehow ended up at the same ball as Yao. But he dismissed that, knowing for certain that Yao was elsewhere and his luck would never be too good.

When Yao saw Ivan's back again he was certain that it really was his Ivan. But then again that man had a broken arm and was not at war. He doubted, just as Ivan did, that his luck would by so good.

Yao, considering this, ended up with a familiar face. Toris beamed at him. It was unmistakably the officer from before. His hair was the same and his mask only covered half of his face, exposing a luminous eye. Yao smiled at him.

"I'm glad you could come," Toris whispered, spinning Yao around.

"I'm glad to have been invited," Yao whispered back, spinning and stretching his hands out. His fingers brushed against a woman's and he turned, inviting her to dance. She was shorter than he was. Her golden hair, curled, rolled down her back and nearly reached her waist. She appeared to be having the time of her life as she danced with Yao. Her dress was dotted with flowers and was pure white.

When she left him, Yao felt somehow enchanted by her presence, as if she was a pure thing. She reminded him of that sparrow and at once he was filled with a melancholy of his summer.

The girl then came up to another, taller woman and danced with her, their dresses clashing. She rung with laughed and kissed the woman's cheek before prancing off.

Kisses were exchanged often. Yao had been kissed several times, in fact.

Yao left the crowd and leaned against the wall, catching his breath and beaming with excitement. Someone then approached him. It was a tall, brunet with a mole beneath his lip and to the side. He took up Yao's hand and invited him to dance. It was the very same Austrian from the town. He had left shortly after the Prussian, Pole, and Gypsy did—all just before the attack.

The other three were also present by chance of fate. The Austrian man, now dancing with Yao, had connections to the Countess and managed to invite the others.

The Prussian approached the handsome woman Ivan had danced with and kissed her hand, inviting her to dance.

The Gypsy, now in a ball-gown and decorated mask, twirled along with partners of either sex—as most of the dancers had ended up doing. She was approached by the young girl with honey-colored hair and floral white dress. She was the one the girl had kissed.

The Pole danced with Toris, happy to be rejoined with his old friend. They took turns raising each other up and dancing. At the end Feliks rose to his toes and kissed Toris's cheek, knowing they would not see each other for some time more.

Yao ended up back again with Ivan out of curiosity. Ivan danced with him in a distracted matter, his eyes having been enraptured by something in the distance. He spun away from Yao and went towards that distant object.

Yao, annoyed at the rejection, took up a dance with Feliks. He examined the blonde, long hair and pink mask in amusement. They were the same height and build.

The end of the ball came much too soon. It was nearing one in the morning and everyone was ready to drop out of exhaustion. They exited the middle of the ball and rested for some time, taking seats and drinking champagne or wine.

Yao ended up in a seat next to an Italian man gazing dreamily ahead. His face was obscured in a black and white mask, plumed with red and purple feathers. His swallow-tailed coat hung off the seat. On his lapel a bright pink rose was pinned. He gazed at Yao and said something in Italian.

Yao could only smile politely and pretend to have understood. His eyes were still fastened onto that strange man with the sling. Ivan sat across from him, still distracted and obviously bothered by some inner turmoil. A lady in a blue dress and exposed bosom beside him spoke to him. He appeared not be listening and only vaguely nodding.

"And now we shall present a performance!" the breathless Countess called out. Everyone turned to face the middle.

The best dancers stood on either side of the clearing. The exhausted but nonetheless excited musicians hastened to begin a new song. The girl, at the tittering of the flute pranced in, arms spread wide. Her hair was tied back and her red dress trailed behind her. Her steps were delicate, made with small feet. She ended up in the middle and spun around so beautifully that everyone caught their breath. Her pretty eyes looked around, glittering happily. She paused and slowly rose, looking across at her male counterpart.

The boy had a light suit on and was poised in a ballet stance, before leaping and striding in. He approached her and, dropping down to a knee, held her hand, kissing it slowly. The music slurred and then piped up. The boy stood and took the girl's hand and waist. He spun her around and they danced a most breath-taking dance. They looked like the two figures in a music-box, so fragile.

Then several dancers in dark suits rushed between them, pulling them apart. The girl gesticulated in silent horror. The boy reached out for his partner. Yao understood that it was no ordinary dance but a performance. All was shown with only gestures and the music. No words needed to be uttered.

Dancers turned and spun. Their dresses and suits flashed in the chandelier light. The music became dark and moody. Through several discourses and changes in beat, the couple returned to each other. Again the music slowed for an interval before popping once the dancer struck out their arms. Dancers in black dropped, as though dead, but still created a circle for the couple to dance. Again the musicians took up a pensive, gloomy dance as the couple appeared to weep and mourn. Again the music became beautiful and lovely. Their dance was both sorrowful and romantic.

After crying out some phrase in German, the dance ended with a powerful stomp from both and a pose struck up.

The phrase they said was this:

"To time: the healer of all!"

At that beat Ivan woke up violently from his reverie and stared across the hall at Yao. The crowd applauded and began to rise.

"That is Yao!" Ivan cried, tears of delight springing up in his eyes. He stood but so did the crowd as they crowded around, preparing to leave. He fought through the people, trying to get to Yao. Yao too had stood up and began to make his leave, becoming lost in the crowd.

Ivan wanted to cry out but he also did not want to be suspected of lunacy, so he searched in vain instead. He went up to every black-haired person and peered at their face. The person looked back, understanding that he was searching for someone, and tried to offer advice. He did not listen, being too engrossed in his own worries.

In the end, he ended up outside in the cold night. Light began to stain the outer edge of the sky and the fresh smell that comes with exiting a stuffy area filled his face. Groups went into carriages and Ivan went through them. He only found the girl with honey-colored hair, the handsome women, and the group from the city as recognizable faces. The carriages departed—all but one that was his own.

He looked around, pushing away his mask. Lines from where it pressed down were red and visible. Still, he could not find Yao.

Yao had slipped away through the back and left towards his barn, exhausted and planning his next course of action. He wondered if he should find that ordered cabby and go back home. That, he decided, was the best course of action. He planned to leave the next day.

Ivan, now sitting in the manor, looked down at his hands and feared he would weep. Tears threatened to spill over. He felt hopeless and in complete, biting pain. "Time," he thought, "If you truly are the healer of all; heal me."

* * *

_Just a warning: the next chapter will be the grand finale! Thank you again for all the lovely reviews. I hope this story made at least some sort of an impression._

_Also, I never promised a happy ending. _


	16. Summer Bells

"Well you can go straight to the Devil!" the woman lashed out, waving a wooden spoon near Ivan's head. Ivan stepped back, clutching his hat to his chest. Although it had been five years since he left his regiment, most of the peasants still took it upon themselves to loathe Ivan.

"Can I at least buy a dress? I need a present for my sister…" Ivan began assertively, but ended in a weakened tone.

The tall peasant lady glowered at him. She was thick-set but by no means flabby. Her arm muscles tightened when she met Ivan's eyes. Her own were of a similar color, as was her hair that was tied into a thick braid down her shoulder. She ran her fingers along her stained white apron and sighed. "Varvara! Come over her," she called to one of her workers. She sold fabrics and dresses from her own home. It was midday and she had been preparing a meal, hence the wooden spoon. She handed the utensil to Varvara and ordered her to watch the soup while she dealt with Ivan.

As she chose out a blue dress with a white collar, she continued to upbraid Ivan for his cowardice in battle. "And look at your arm now! Sure, a bit bumpy and crooked, but you can shoot with the other hand! You leave your men as though they hardly matter. Have you no conscience? You parasite!"

Ivan took it all in without arguing. He was set on visiting Natalia the next morning and then going to see Katrina. It would take him several hours to get from Moscow, his current location, to Natalie's home in Vitebsk. Then it would take another few hours to go to Katrina's home in Odessa. Sighing, he purchased the cloths and even tipped the girl.

She looked at the gold pieces in her palm with awe. "No, sir, you are taking these back." She grabbed Ivan's sleeve and tugged him forth, pressing them back into his hands. "I was rude to you. Albeit, you did deserve it, but you should have paid me less!"

"No, you should have charged me more," Ivan said solemnly, replacing the coins and leaving with the package in his hands.

He exited her home and started towards the street. He past a monastery and smiled politely at one of the monks. They smiled back and wished him a good day.

The sun shone fiercely overhead. Several fleecy clouds occasionally went past it, but were cut by light and hardly noticed. Summer had set in hotly that year. Ivan rolled up his sleeves involuntarily and slid into the cabby, telling the directions curtly and sitting back.

The cabby, a balding man with watery eyes wanted to speak, but once glance at Ivan told him it was better not to. He recognized the man, as everyone else did, as the colonel who left his regiment for a small wound on his arms. But the man had a good heart and could see in Ivan's foggy, mournful eyes that he had suffered enough grief already.

Like many foolish men that believe their honor must be held at all costs, Ivan had taken all his sorrow and locked it away inside. Many of his female friends, who knew how to deal with sadness better than he, insisted that he weep at least once.

"It will clear your mind!"

"Nothing weakens the pain of loss like the shedding of a few tears, Braginsky!"

But Ivan refused. And, also like other men of the same stretch of cloth, he forced himself to divert his attention with conversation. When he did so he became uncharacteristically animated and loud. Those he spoke with understood that he was upset and submitted to his often cruel comebacks.

Ivan held the package in his hands, rolling the string that bound it between two fingers. He had already bought Katrina a present and it lay in his satchel which was strung over his shoulder. He shouldered it, checking to see if it was present out of habit.

The road stretched on and it was not until early the next morning that he reached Vitebsk. The sun began to part the horizon and climb up. He paid the cabby duly and exited the carriage, his legs numb from being stuck in a certain position for too long. It was a short walk along a clean path to Natalia's home. He followed the address that was printed on one of her recent letters. Yawning, he knocked on the wooden door.

Moments later, Natalia opened the door. She had changed greatly, as she had predicted all those summers ago. Her hair was thicker and tied up. She had grown more beautiful and stern, her face hardening with age and her eyes wearied by the years. She kissed Ivan's cheek and embraced him briefly, letting him enter. Ivan thought that she did not miss him as much as he hoped. But she had. She refused to show him this and, once his back was turned away, her face contorted in an effort to suppress cries of joy.

"Breakfast is made, come sit at the table. You are no guest." She said. She spoke Russian but formatted her sentences in the French way, as does happen when one does not speak a certain language for so long. Ivan then stopped her, touching her shoulder, and holding out the present. She took it and thanked him, kissing his cheek again and setting it away, gesturing him to go into the kitchen.

He pulled a wooden chair over, causing it to scrape the floor. He plumped down heavily and looked at the meal laid out; soup, bread, red tomatoes, fruits, rye bread, and glasses of milk. Natalia refused to drink anything but milk or water at breakfast. She sat down and admired Ivan's face for a moment.

"You've changed so much." Ivan commented, picking up a piece of rye bread and fingering it.

"So have you. I'd say you've changed more than I have." Natalia responded and sipped her milk. Drops of it stuck to her lips and she licked them away.

What Natalia said was true. Ivan had grown skinnier, for one, as his appetite had lessened greatly due to his depression. He often forgot to buy food some days and locked himself away in his study, reading the same book for the umpteenth time and forgetting to even sleep. He fell asleep on the couch and Sveta, who stubbornly refused to leave his side, had to gently set him on the couch. She felt sorry for him and had forced him to visit his sisters in the first place.

Ivan's face had grown gaunt and now he sported a mustache that limply hung down. White hairs had begun appearing on his scalp and along his temples. Spots of age also presented themselves at the base of his cheeks and his neck. He scraped at the plate with a short and not so clean fingernail. Shrugging, he agreed softly to it.

"How was Paris?"

"It was good. I spent some time in Lorraine and Alsace in the summers." She itched to tell Ivan about the man with the red ribbon. Although his name had slipped away from her memory, his impression on her and that ribbon remained deeply embedded in her mind. She waited for the right moment to tell Ivan.

"What do you do now?"

"I work on translations and I am often inviting to diplomatic tasks."

"I see…"

Natalia could no longer refrain herself and cleared her throat, biting into a tomato and gathering her thoughts. Ivan watched her expectantly.

"When I was in Paris I met a most remarkable gentleman," she began.

"Don't tell me you made him your husband." Ivan snorted.

She colored at once, her cheeks reddening and her eyes flaring in rage. "No, don't be a fool! As I was saying, I met him on a rainy day. Why I was out then is beyond me, but I was. Regardless, I spoke to him. I can't remember what he told me but I do remember that he was most kind and, in a way, he reminded me of you."

"How so?"

"He had the air of someone who had lost a great deal."

Ivan nodded, casting his eyes downwards.

Ivan left shortly thereafter. Natalia, following breakfast, showed him around the lively city and taking him to the forest as well. She then cooked several of her Drainikis and bade him off. Once he was gone and Natalia was left alone in her home, she began to weep.

She brought her hands to her face and sobbed freely. Her large tears slipped down her cheeks and moistened her hands, her small shoulders shaking. She wept for Ivan, for his loss of his loved one whom she dared not ask about, and she wept in part for herself. She found it selfish to pity herself so, but she could not stop from doing so. She was so piteous, she decided, for her loneliness and her inability to keep Ivan there longer than a few hours. Most visitors after such a long journey stay a night or two, but Ivan refused to do so. He was stubborn in his own way.

Natalia, the cold, calculating, and quiet girl felt in that moment warm, driven by emotion, and obstreperous. But that feeling faded away and she continued on with her daily routine, picking up a leaf of paper and composing a letter to one of her friends in the nearby town of Lepel.

Ivan fell into a light doze on the trip to Odessa, his head bobbing down and his chin nearly touching his chest. He clutched his bag where his gift to Katrina was, ascertaining that it was there.

That night he reached the town and sleepily walked to Katrina's small house along the edge. He rapped on the door, yawning. The rustle of skirts followed from inside and the door flung open. Katrina looked at him and burst into gleeful tears, embracing her broth and gesturing for him to come in.

Unlike her sister, Katrina chose a more rural lifestyle. She lived in a wooden house at the edge of Odessa. The rooms inside were not parted by doors but rather by blue, striped curtains. Only the back and front doors were made of hard wood. She ushered Ivan into the living room, her face red from emotion. She clutched her skirts and pushed off the white kerchief from her now lengthened hair, and brought out a samovar. In the kitchen, lighted by a candle, Ivan watched her ignite the wood beneath the samovar and place the teapot atop it. While that boiled, she went back to Ivan and sat by him.

She grabbed his hands and pressed it, finding her voice again. "Oh my dear, sweet brother! Dearest of mine, how I've missed you! Give your sister a kiss."Ivan kissed her cheek. "You've changed!" she giggled, as his mustache had tickled her, "Oh how much you've changed…" she added in a glummer tone.

"How have you been?" Ivan asked, fishing for her present in his bag.

"I've been well so far. I have work and a cow. I think I'll be fine for now."

Ivan dimly recalled a cow lowing when he knocked on the door. He pulled out the gift, wrapped in brown paper, and held it out to her. She flushed and took it, letting go of Ivan's hand that she had been pressing tightly. She peeled of the paper and burst again into tears of joy.

"How lovely! Oh how absolutely lovely!" in her hands she held a wooden carving of a sparrow. Ivan smiled. She brought the bird to her lips and kissed it, placing it on a table and then taking Ivan's hand and kissing that too. Her neck reddened from her intense emotions.

Ivan could only pet her hair.

"How sorrowful, how dreadfully sorrowful… I've heard about that ball those years ago, Ivan." Katrina said, suddenly changing the subject.

Ivan made a strange sound in his throat that faintly sounded like "how".

"I believe you've met one of my acquaintances, Felix? Well, he sent me a letter not long after the—oh I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Ivan had begun to cry. Tears spilled out of his eyes, as though a dam had been broken. He had bottled up his emotions for so long that now they flowed like a waterfall. He bowed his head and covered his reddened face. He wiped his tears with the backs and wrists of his hands.

"I'll bring the tea," Katrina said. The room had begun to smell of burnt wood.

For the next hour Ivan wept, trying to drink tea but spilling entire cups on his shirt front twice. He tugged at his hair and wept himself dry of tears. Katrina spent that time alternatively apologizing and consoling him. She took the red and black shawl off her shoulders and wrapped it around Ivan, holding him to her bosom and petting his head.

"What I find the saddest of all of this…" he croaked out some time after his final sob ceased to ring in the air, "Is that you still don't have a family to care for…"

"Oh my dear brother…" Katrina said, trying to refrain from bursting into tears herself.

"I say this honestly, sister. You are no longer in your first youth! You let your loveliest years slip away without a single suitor."

"Not a single one…" Katrina muttered and kissed his forehead. She wanted to make a comment about Ivan being a widower but decided rightfully so against it.

Ivan raised his head from her shoulder, where it had migrated during the course of his sobs, and kissed her cheek again. He wiped his eyes and a yawn ripped at his mouth.

"Sleep, I'll set up the guest bed." She stood, gently setting him on the couch, and pushed the curtain away from the extra bed in the house. She set it, bending over and sending a wave of pain through her back. She rubbed her side, fearful that her age had finally caught up with her.

After finally downing a complete cup of tea, Ivan shed his outer layer of clothing and dropped down on the bed, falling asleep instantly. Katrina watched him sorrowfully, tucking him in and shutting the curtain around him, plunging him into the moonlit darkness.

For once, Katrina did not cry out of sympathy. She could only look at the blue curtain with glittering eyes. Her brother had suffered so much in his life. He had gone to war with the full expectancy of dying then and there, happy that Yao would be at home, and that his sister were healthy. One of those things, perhaps the biggest to him, did not happen and thus he was plunged into infinite grief. Katrina then, deciding what to do in an instant, smiled to herself and went outside. There, in the bluish darkness, she plucked up a flower. She dusted it off from soil while watching the stars glitter overhead. The distant rumbling of horses sounded in the distance, along with the talk of various peasants.

In the front of her house, several bells were placed upon metal hooks. In the summer wind they rung, but their sound was drowned out by emotion: summer bells ringing silently, just as they had for Yao so long ago. His heartbreak had silenced them and now her's did too.

She returned to the house, locking the door behind her, and pulled open the curtain.

Ivan appeared at complete peace for the first time in five years. His face was expressionless and dried tears stained his cheeks. His hair fell over his face, over the faint line between his eyebrows. She placed the flower on his chest and left him to sleep.

It was a sunflower.

* * *

_Notes on "translation": _

_When Anya (the seamstress at the beginning) says _"You have no conscience! You parasite!" _it's a direct translation of a Russian phrase. It does not carry over with the same meaning but I felt that this rendering of the phrase would be the most exact. It means basically that "You have no morals, you jerk!"_

_Odessa is a city in Ukraina. Vitebsk is a city in Belarus. It is a nice city, similar to Minsk. Lepel is a smaller city/town near Vitebsk. _

_Kerchiefs are essentially bandannas that are worn on one's head. _

_A samovar is a notorious Russian technology used to make tea by placing fire at the end and allowing boiling water and smoke to heat up the teapot on top. Now there are electric samovars. _

_All those kisses are part of culture. I was tempted to write kissing on the lips or mouth because that is also a tradition, but it could have been misinterpreted._

_The Russians speaking French is no uncommon thing. French culture was spreading through Europe and plagued Russia especially. This occurred around the Napoleonic era. French, around 1812, became a dangerous thing to speak in Russia for some time. _

_Speaking of dates: this story is set in the eighteen hundreds. The war is fictitious. _

_ I realize that Yao should probably have been older. My bad, sorry. _

_Yao, on that note, did in fact return home. Whatever happened to him I will remain ambiguous about. Firstly because it's fun and secondly because I want to leave it to the reader's imagination. I suppose he could have become an elderly man trekking through the mountains and offering wisdom to all those who asked for it. _

_Also-when Yao speaks of Achilles, if I recall correctly, he is referring to the part of the Iliad where Achilles grows stubborn and refuses to fight for the Danaans. _

_And finally-THANK YOU ALL! Thanks for all the support with your reviews. Thanks for reading! I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing. _

_I enjoy writing like this. I think I'll do something similar in the future. Maybe one to do with France next... _


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